


Lanun'ven'ur'alas

by Trewestriandta



Series: Blessing or a Curse [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2018-11-01 03:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 83,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10913061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trewestriandta/pseuds/Trewestriandta
Summary: Lanun'ven'ur'alas meaning as if sent by the gods, blessedBut as 'Nira Lavellan discovers, not all blessings are made equal. And what is a blessing from one god might very well be a curse from another. To complicate matters, she has been declared a Herald of Andraste and expected to help settle the world back into peace, but all Nira wants is to survive. Protecting the world is too much to ask from one unwanted Scout, especially when she suspects that this will be a tale of woe for the hero.





	1. Vir Tanadhal

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Inquisition as seen in the Rena-Cullen story, only these snippets will be more Nira-Solas based. 
> 
> I will be showcasing some characters in slightly more sinister manners than you necessarily agree with.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many of the Dalish live their lives by Vir Tanadhal, the Way of the Three Trees.

Be swift and silent."   
—Vir Assan: The Way of the Arrow 

"As the sapling bends, so must you."   
—Vir Bor'assan: The Way of the Bow 

"Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness."   
—Vir Adahlen: The Way of the Wood


	2. Banal'halam

Nira Lavellan had grown up all too aware that the universe was not a favourable place for a creature like her to be. Her mother had seen to that long before sending Nira to the Conclave ‘to watch the Shemlen’, so when she woke up chained in a cell, Nira wasn’t even all that surprised. Annoyed, confused, disappointed, and more than a little concerned about having a glowing hand. As if she needed another deformity added to her arsenal of freakishness. 

She didn't have long to worry about it though because a rough, loud, and stinking of sweat and steel Warrior stormed in to threaten her overtly. Nira found it remarkably easy to imagine the woman gleefully slicing her head off for no other reason than she was angry and Nira was in her way. And the quiet red one made Nira fear for the knife in the dark; even though she spoke more friendly Nira was a good enough Scout to know an ambush when she saw it. And yet both women talked as if they needed Nira to understand without ever actually explaining anything to her. Seeing their anxiety would have made Nira happier if she didn’t have the distinct feeling that these women normally never panicked at all. What had happened to the world?

The hatred and vile spat at her from the crowds as the one called Cassandra revealed to Nira the Breach was a more familiar danger at least. Clan Lavellan might have had lots of dealings with shemlen villages but not all of those experiences had always been pleasant. As the advance scout, Nira was often encountering hostile humans and wildlife alike, but these familiar dangers provided comfort in this context. There was a giant, bleeding tear from the Fade.

She was definitely surprised, and suspicious, that this Templar’s Templar seemed so willing to be kind to her at all given the animosity of the crowds. At least until it was revealed that they were hoping her newest malady could close the impossibility in the sky. At least if Nira knew what was wanted or expected of her she could figure out how to anticipate her captors. If they thought she was necessary, they would help keep her alive; so Nira started to try and discover how to play to their expectations.

It was clearly working when Cassandra cut her wrist restraints free on their way to the forward camp. Nira had picked up on the other woman’s emotionality and mirrored it often, gaining favour simply by agreeing. But after they were dumped on the ground and Nira defended herself with a dead man’s staff, the Warrior went deadly again. 

“Drop the weapon.” The Seeker commanded but this time Nira showed her teeth instead of cowering.

“I need no staff to be a threat to you.” It lost her some of the good will gained and yet she was allowed to keep the staff. As if the Warrior begrudged Nira the ability to defend herself while acknowledging the need for it regardless. Nira resisted the urge to curl her lip in disgust; this Cassandra would get along remarkably with Nira’s own mother most likely. Duplicitous creatures.

The constant sense of wrongness that covered Nira like a sickly aura left her bitter and silent even as they encountered others fighting demons and a glowing green rend in the Veil. A bald Elf with no Vallaslin grabbed her wrist once the demons were felled, and the unfamiliar magic that had been tainting her aura suddenly snapped like a broken bone resetting. The pain that had crackled so agonizingly was muted, a temporary barrier raised between her pain and her body while the magic channeled through her into the Rift. When the Rift closed and the barrier retreated, Nira felt the combined magic returning through the mark in her palm. She knew there was something wrong, the sense of Power coiled within her was far too vast and unwieldy compared to how her reserves of magic felt days ago. She’d been weak and uncontrolled before this strange series of events; now Nira had to fear her own magic once again. 

To add to her burdens the way this Solas watched her left Nira unsettled; a half felt recognition that couldn’t exist. When it was explained that he had kept her alive, she had to accept that her broken memories would offer no answers. Now her magic and her mind couldn’t be trusted, and she was a prisoner to these volatile people. It made her want to snarl but she let none of it show on her face, a lifetime as a solitary scout not lending itself well to diplomacy now but a lifetime under her mother preparing her to hide that fact. Never allow a show of weakness.

Her ire was further provoked when Solas seemed to deliberately try and rile her as they spoke of the Dalish and his encounters with them. “It doesn’t surprise me, the Dalish have found nothing but hostility to their liking in most cases.” Her blunt assessment silenced any comment he’d have made and Nira wondered if he’d already figured out why she bothered him so much.

Only Elven mages seemed able to sense it, but Nira’s half-blood status should have been clear as day to him the moment she actively used her magic instead of whatever it was that rested in her palm. Unconscious the thing in her hand might have masked the magical traits that gave away her muddied heritage, and most people saw her Vallaslin and her slight build and never noticed that she was a little bit taller and wider than she should be. Add in the facts that her short hair was messy, disguising her mutilated ears even as the root paste disguised the colour of her hair, and Nira could almost forgive the apostate for not realizing it yet. But as they climbed towards the mountain path, she caught the narrow eyed disgust as the reality of what she was finally occurred to Solas. She stared straight at him, prepared for whatever it was he was about to call her, and yet nothing came out. He simply caught her defiant glare and raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement. The Dwarf and the Shemlen were oblivious, snapping at each other like territorial scavengers bickering over food. 

It turned into the least aggravating part of the day as shortly after arriving at the still smoking ruins bodiless voices rang out, one of them her own. Red lyrium pulsed with something too close to a sleeping heartbeat, and Nira could feel the unsettling mixture of familiar and newly strange magic within her react to the improperly sealed Rift. Nira wanted to flee the crowds of shemlen and the devastating feeling of not trusting her own magic again; instead she dove into battle with every expectation of not surviving to sunset. 

\---

He’d known the moment Corypheus had used the Orb, the pain inside almost a match to the screaming pain lashing him from the outside as the Veil was rent and the Fade bled through. How he hadn’t dropped into screaming madness then was not an act of Will, but instead a chance of luck. Solas had waited in the little village far removed from the Chantry and their huddled believers, trusting that he could watch from a distance as the Magister unlocked his orb but still be close enough to reclaim his errant Power.

That had not been the case.

He could feel the corruption of the Spirits as they were pulled through the tear against their Wills. He could hear the screams of incorporeal beings as the barrier he had erected between their world and his was cracked, their wails the shriek of steam escaping a ruined kettle. It felt like his ears should have bled at the impossibly high pitched frequency, and yet he knew it was a sound he felt in his heart more than heard with his ears. He knew the pain of their corruption and once again it was his fault.

Worse than the split second of pain as Corypheus forced the Orb to respond to his will was the moment when Solas felt his Orb, his Power, chose another to bear it. All around him the scared villagers fell to their knees in grief and terror, crying out at the distant explosion and swirling green sky. Solas huddled on his knees for lack of ability to stand. The echoing backlash as his absent Power wove into and reworked itself with another left him shuddering and weak. It was little comfort to realize that whomever was on the dominant end of that exchange was no doubt in far worse shape than he was.

To his surprise, they lived; he could feel whoever it was that had stolen his Power. A distant, untraceable call to where the Orb was left him wanting to chase after it, but the much stronger sense of who his Orb had accepted pulled him to his feet. Nearby was a creature his Orb had hidden Power into, and Solas would need it back. Now more so than ever thanks to Corypheus’ interference; he should have never let the Orb out of his sight. The stinging cries as Spirits both peaceful and benign were torn apart and reworked into nightmares for this world drove him on more quickly than a crackling whip could have, and Solas longed to share his regret with the world.

Sorrow was buried and anger gave him strength to don his hapless wanderer mask, presenting himself to the Chantry forces peacefully. Let them see his ears and lack of Marked face and make assumptions. For now he would make himself useful to them, his few answers easily overlooked in the aftermath of the explosion. And by the time any, even the clever Nightingale, though to ask more questions he planned to be long gone.

And then they brought the sole survivor down the mountain.

Adnan was beyond useless, the apothecarist asked to treat the survivor solely for lack of any actual Healers. Solas bided his time that first day, ingratiating himself to Cassandra, Leliana, even the Commander. By the third time the villagers had come to kill the girl, Adnan had begged off the duty. It was easy for Solas to suggest himself as the replacement after that, going so far as to use his supposed shared heritage with the child to indicate that he would be the best suited to helping her once she woke.

It gave him time to study the survivor. Her belt was empty, whatever tools she used to defend herself stripped away and even her clothing had been replaced. Seeing the lingering stains of ichor and blood mottling her skin left Solas wondering if the act of redressing the survivor wasn’t done out of mercy instead of paranoia. Even her hair was stiff and flaked with more than just whatever paste was darkening its colour; she had to have been brought down the mountain veritably dripping.

And he couldn’t wake her. His Power, His Work was buried into the calloused skin of her palm and no matter how strongly he commanded it, it would not leave her. Somehow this child had been strong enough to not only withstand the eruption of the magic, but had been capable enough of housing it and surviving the Power weaving itself into her. She had stolen his Power and Solas had had to leave the little cabin or else strangle her in his wroth.

Determination had brought him back before the dawn of the third day. Not a single action taken here had helped her wake, though there seemed to be less overt symptoms of pain. Her thrashing and whimpering had died down, and Solas made sure to keep Cassandra informed of the progression of the Mark in her palm. The pain hadn't actually eased, their survivor had simply become accustomed it, and the Mark continued to grow as did the Breach in the sky. If he couldn’t wake her soon his only other option would be to run. Get as far away from this point as possible to buy time to rebuild his Power. It aggravated him that likely his own Power now protected the girl; a condemning combination that drew him to reclaim it and repelled him because he had tried and failed already. What was this survivor capable of once she woke up and took charge of her own actions? What would she do once she discovered this new well of Power to draw from? And how could Solas convince her to work with his plans instead of foiling them? 

That night he pursued answers in the Fade. No Spirits remained, chased away from the Breach and unlikely to return for time uncountable in the Fade. Their pain would mark this place long after human memory forgot. But in the absence of the Spirits, the lamentation of the Demons was a cacophony. And so Solas stalked the Fade not in his kindly form but in the shape that would protect him. 

Fen’Harel snarled through the twisted, jagged landscape of the Fade. He walked the constant perimeter around his prey, kept back by the light of her fire but pulled forwards by the call of familiar Power. In the waking world he knew she slept, oblivious and vulnerable to the world, but here he saw that despite the damage and pain, she fought to defend herself. Defensive wards were carefully laid out, but like the fire they were weak and sputtering, constantly on the verge of dying out and yet fitfully flickering on. The ground around the fire was swept clear, neither snow nor leaf marred the beaten dirt and only blurred footprints marked the ground giving away nothing of her location. He scanned the area, multiple eyes searched and not seeing a trace of his quarry, but the call of his own Power gave her away; she was in a tree, watching him. His dominant eyes locked on her staring from the foliage and matched it even as the rest of his eyes sought out other threats. No doubt she saw the figment of her worst nightmares, the Dread Wolf itself come to stalk her at her weakest. He’d donned the black fur and multiple coal red eyes, infamous teeth snarling in silence; but she didn’t flee.

He stepped into the light cast by her fire, letting it reveal to her the truth of his form. Her wards couldn't react to him, the magic that had formed them partially his own even if he couldn't command it to return to him. And to his utter surprise she slipped silently from the tree, not to finally run as expected once her defences were breached but so she could approach him in return. For every step into the light he took, she made one towards him, both cautious and curious. With an obvious air of amusement he sat and waited, fully exposed in the light and impossibly unnatural fully revealed. He could smell his Power on her, overwhelming the weaker scent of her own and yet not consuming it completely. She was no great mage of this Age, and yet she survived. How very curious.

He watched her, cavernous jaws carefully closed to seem less the threat. He was the Dread Wolf but also so much grander than a simple animal could ever be; she stared upwards at his many eyes with wonder instead of fear. He knew that the form currently inhabited was worth a long stare; giant and primal, held together by his Will and Power, and utterly unlike anything else seen in this world. She was right to cower in awe, miniscule even when propped up with his stolen Power.

The prick of the knife was negligible, her small blade utterly incapable of harming him fatally, especially here in the Fade. The pain of the minor wound barely registered and yet Fen’Harel snarled at the little Dalish child who showed defiance in the face of overwhelming odds. And she snarled back even as a pulse from the Breach tore through the Fade.

Solas stared up at the ceiling between him and familiar constellations, surprised to have been so forcefully ejected from the Fade. But he had no time to waste, quickly jumping to his feet and moving to warn the Commander. If the Fade was literally rippling with the force of the next wave of demons coming through, they were going to need every advanced warning they could get. He’d check on the da'fen once they survived the onslaught coming.

She found him first.

He should have felt her coming up the mountain. The Durgen’len Varric had come with Solas towards the forward camp, trying to buy enough time for reinforcements to get in place. They didn’t make it; the Rift spat out a constant barrage of corrupted Spirits, as if aware that Solas was the source of all their pain and the only way to rectify the situation was to utterly rend him to pieces. He had had to focus the entirety of his attention on the enemies in front of him that it was only when Cassandra ran a demon through that he realized they had arrived. And then the familiar call of Power taunted him, beckoning for him to come claim it again even as another used it. Solas didn’t warn the survivor when he grabbed her hand and thrust it at the Rift, knowing his own magic would start the process for her to close it. He threw a barrier over her, a shield against his anger and the pain as he had to watch his Power be joined and used by another person entirely. It was hard enough to watch Corypheus hold his Orb, seeing the combined magics settled into this child hurt his pride.

“What did you do?” her voice was hard and suspicious. She watched him with eyes that were as unnaturally green as the Mark in her palm or the Breach in the sky, whatever hue they’d been before consumed. Solas wasn’t sure that she was aware that she looked towards him in confused familiarity; likely as his Power called to him, he too called to his Power. Even if she couldn’t understand the connection, the survivor had to feel it; like the constant sound of running water it could be tuned out but never entirely ignored.

“I did nothing,” he carefully stressed, not wanting the Seeker to start looking at him with suspicion, “the credit is yours.” He gestured towards her Marked palm, every snarl held inside.

Following the cue, she looked down at her hand as did everyone else. “At least this is good for something.” She sounded disgusted by the swirling, writhing green in her flesh, rejecting the physical manifestation of Power as much as she tried to force the magic from her body. And the Seeker and Durgen'len remained oblivious to it.

“Whatever opened the Breach also put that in your hand.” He would walk them all through that explanation as often as possible to drive it into them all that the Orb was the thing to find. Get it back from Corypheus and Solas would settle this entire… miscalculation easily. It was short work from that to prompt Cassandra and their survivor to seal the Breach before more delay. If she wanted to reject his Power entirely, he would be more than glad to reclaim it.

“Are you with the Chantry or…?” the survivor questioned as Varric introduced himself.

Solas couldn’t help the scoffing laugh that slipped free. “Was that a serious question?” Her stiffened spine should have warned him that there was no amusement to be found and after that it seemed that the Dalish survivor had as much tolerance for him as he generally ever received from her kind. Even after he tried to salvage the encounter by introducing himself in a friendlier manner, she still seemed withdrawn and suspicious. She may be weak and young, but she wasn't stupid.

“You are Dalish,” Solas tried another tactic to sound out the survivor’s tolerances, “and clearly away from your People. Did they send you here?”

“What do you know of the Dalish?” her return question was as sharp as his dismissive laughter earlier had been.

“I have wandered many roads in my time; I’ve crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion.” He hadn’t meant to word it quite that way, but she picked up on his terminology immediately.

“We’re both of the same people Solas.” The strange tone in her voice would likely be lost on the others but he knew its source; she was still unsure if he had realized her half-Elf heritage yet.

“The Dalish I encountered thought differently.” He kept it vague, not wanting to explain more than that and oddly unwilling to out the survivor in front of these others.

It wasn’t until they were climbing the mountain that he figured out why he felt so protective of the survivor instead of just defensive for the Power she contained. Her ears had been docked, the scar tissue old and heavy on the upper cartilage where any tissue that extended past the human limit had been sheared away. To any of the others that saw it they would likely assume that unwanted ‘Knife ears’ had been removed by human hand, but Solas guessed a more terrible story. Her Vallaslin was newer than those scars were, so unless he was mistaken it had been no human hand that had disfigured her. Her angry, defiant stare as she caught his gaze warned that she would accept no pity.

He found very little reason to think differently as they confronted the original Rift and the Pride Demon that was birthed from it. His magic was the harsh biting edge of ice and snow, the frigid winter adding to his strength as he drove daggers of blizzard frost into the beast. With the Fade torn open and bleeding into the air around them, his Veil Strikes were catastrophic to the smaller demons but hardly phased the massive one.

Despite his intent and focus, he couldn't help but watch as she moved around the Pride as if the field were empty of obstacles, aware and assessing the threats but dismissing them as she thrust her palm into the air to try and seal the Rift. The Pride struck at her continuously, every step she took or slight movement was retaliated against immediately. He wondered at her restraint, feeling the Power coil up inside of her and yet she let none of it slip free to lash out.

When the Power curled inside of her finally fully lashed out, his shout at the sensation was overwhelmed by the shriek torn from her. The air felt unnaturally still as all the assembled crowd watched her crumple to the ground.


	3. Dirthala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald of Andraste is not thrilled with her new title. Or home. Or all of her companions.  
> It is only made worse when she realizes she needs them anyways.

Waking up again was unexpected but appreciated. Nira was now very determined to discover who had broken the world and put a fragment of the Forgotten Ones in her hand; they were going to have words and Nira fully planned hers to be the final ones that person ever heard. Until then she had to figure out just how much work it was going to take to escape, and that meant getting up. 

When the flat ear fell to her knees in obeisance Nira knew her lip curled, “Never bow to me like I’m your owner.”  She hissed out, startling the girl out the door as she rambled something about the Seeker and the Chantry. 

Remaining in the hut wasn’t an option, the only ways out were through the door or the front facing windows unless Nira was willing to try and go through a wall or the ceiling, and there were very little answers just waiting here for her. There was actually nothing in the hut for her except for a brief note from their Ladarelan and a set of light weight clothes to replace her currently stagnant attire. The fact that they included her original weapons and even provided a mage’s staff was enough warning that she wasn’t waking up a prisoner this time.

Opening the door to pursue answers only led to the uncomfortable reality that people thought she was holy. The circumstances that had originally had all of them clamouring for her blood now caused them to whisper and reach out to her. As if that were preferable; Nira knew her face showed the panic and alarm she felt as she scurried away from the huddled hordes of Shemlen watching her. Of course to offset her unknown divine status was that the shemlen’s scattered authorities now considered her a heretic. It was far from the worst thing Nira had ever been called, especially since she wasn’t actually Andrastrian.

It left the Inquisition with no clue how to regard its Herald, and Nira with no guidance on how to acclimatize to being part of a human army; even if she was half-human herself. The Lavellan Clan was willing to trade and interact with the human settlements, Nira wouldn’t exist if that weren’t the case but she was also her mother’s burden. Deshanna Istimaethoriel had allowed a charming young human to seduce her over a summer, and he had taken more than just her naivety when he left one early morning without a goodbye. She’d only been a First at the time, but her fledgling romance had cost the Clan priceless Elvhen artifacts and then burdened the First with a half-blooded child. Unfortunately the story behind Nira’s birth and the subsequent mutilation her mother had performed on her still kept a firm barrier between Nira and the sometimes friendly seeming Inquisition members. No one really knew what to say once they heard that Nira’s mother had hacked off part of her ears shortly after Nira was born, not that Nira really blamed them for the unease; she’d had her entire life to adapt to the scar tissue.

Common consensus amongst her ‘companions’ seemed to be to ignore Nira’s human ancestry and treat her as wholly Dalish; that was from every member of the Inquisition except for the one pure blooded Elf of course. Solas continued to treat Nira as an interesting specimen he were studying, and despite her best efforts Nira found herself entirely aware of where he was whenever he was near her. It was the same cautious reservations she treated the wild animals she’d encounter as a Scout. But unless she wanted the aggravation, Nira had learned to take her restless wandering away from the bald one’s area.

“So now that Cassandra is out of earshot, how are you holding up?” The hairy chested Dwarf grabbed her attention. Her old Scout Hahren had taught her it was smart to cultivate what alliances she could, so she stopped to build rapport.

“They think I'm the Herald of Andraste, and my left hand means I will never need a torch again.” She figured humour would be the best approach with him for now.

He laughed and Nira let her smile show; the deeper creases around his eyes and mouth showcased an easy going nature. She’d observed that Varric liked to get along with people; he'd likely prefer compromise and compassion so she'd temper her actions if possible. “It is a bit much to have thrown at you all at once, most people would space this out over more than just a single day.” He agreed easily.

“How did you really get involved in all of this?” Nira had heard him bicker with the Seeker, but trusted nothing that was actually being said.

“After a long tale of woe best kept for another time; the Seeker came to Kirkwall looking for answers and instead she found me.” His smile was wide and charming and Nira trusted that about as much as she did his words; she’d spent her entire life learning that beautiful things were often the most deadly afterall.

“And now that you’re not their prisoner, you chose to stay to help them?” it was an obvious answer because he was still here, but Nira had learned to ask questions she already knew the answers to; sometimes how people answered gave her more information to work with.

“For days now we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker knows what fall out of it.” Varric turned more serious so Nira nodded solemnly. “Bad for morale would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.” He shrugged but couldn’t meet her eye after that confession. “I’d like to think that I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this…” he shook his head. Nira suspected she should accustom herself to people unloading their emotional opinions on her; she was the supposed Herald of Andraste after all. “Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them. And now there’s a hole in the sky. Even I just can’t walk away and leave that to sort itself out.”

“I’m still not sure I believe any of this is happening.” It was safe to admit that, Nira had heard others echo the same sentiment so confessing it wouldn’t put her in trouble. Establishing a friendly relationship with Varric was a simple matter after that. She did genuinely enjoy his easy going nature, though his propensity for incessant talking got on her nerves out in the field. And Varric’s serious friendliness was sometimes much preferred to Solas’ antagonistic teasing.

“The Herald of Andraste; a blessed hero sent to save us all.” His cultured voice had smoothly caught her attention. Nira hated herself for always walking along the path that neared his cabin, some part of her masochistically drawn to the Hahren that seemed to torment her so.

Even with her half-human blood Nira was annoyed to find that she still had to look up to glare at the taller mage. He stood close, head tilted in obvious amusement to her ire. “I didn’t ask for this,” she held her hands out like the Halla handlers would when one spooked and saw his eyes track her Marked palm, “but someone has to find a way to close the Breach.” Part of her wanted to throw in his face the fact that he couldn’t do it despite his years of practice in the Fade.

“Spoken nobly indeed,” Nira couldn’t keep the irritation completely off of her face at his words. “You think I’m mocking you,” he sounded as if he couldn’t figure out how Nira had jumped to that conclusion and she fought the urge to kick his shin, “this Age has made people cynical.” He honestly chided. Nira blinked for a moment, wondering if asking him if she was allowed to be cynical because of her own life experience or if she had to wait for an esteemed elder such as himself to grant her permission first would be worth the attitude.

“Am I riding in on a shining steed if I am to be the heroine?” Nira carefully enunciated a different question, tone of voice modulated as if he were a simple minded fellow. Interestingly enough, he seemed to enjoy her efforts to insult him. 

“I would have suggested a gryphon,” his amused smirk made her blink, “but sadly they’re extinct.” His unexpected eye contact put her instincts onto high alarm and she had no idea why. “Joke as you will, but posturing is necessary.” He warned, slightly more serious.

“I have no interest in being a hero,” it wasn’t a lie; Nira had never heard a story where the Hero was happy despite the epilogue at the end. “All I want is to find a way to seal the Breach.”

That was definite approval on his face now, unexpected after his expression of disgust on the mountain. “Pragmatic; but ultimately irrelevant.” He turned, clearly expecting her to follow and a lifetime of obeying the Hahren of her Clan had Nira following before she realized it. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade at ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clashed to re-enact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.” Now Nira had to fight the bitter jealousy his words stirred inside her. The luxury to explore, the world or the Fade, for her own pleasure was a concept beyond the life Nira knew. That he could discuss it so easily told of a wealth of experience that had been denied to her.

As he turned to face her, Nira wiped the thoughts from her face as much as possible. “Every great war has its Heroes. I’m just curious which kind you’ll be.” He didn’t seem insulting but Nira wasn’t sure she trusted his words. It would almost be easier if he confronted her about her mongrel status already so she could finally establish how little she cared for his opinion. 

“I’ll be the kind who wins.” She left out that to her winning was simply getting that Breach closed. And that Nira prayed to steadfast Mythal for protection during her time bearing the title of Hero.

“That is usually better than losing.” Solas didn’t argue with her confidence which was an odd feeling. “I will stay then,” he sounded as if that were only just decided, “at least until the Breach has been closed.” 

“Was that in doubt?” she asked the question to keep from thinking about how close to her own plans that lined up.

“I’m an Elvhen apostate surrounded by Chantry forces,” Nira almost smirked when he included his full blood status but he kept talking and wiped all wry amusement from her, “and unlike you I do not have a divine Mark to protect me.” He sounded angry and Nira liked the honesty of that better than his careful charm. “Cassandra has been accommodating but you understand my caution.” he sounded more real, more approachable for that fretting.

“You were trying to help; I wouldn’t let them use that against you.” He was right in that she understood his caution, but she was the advance scout for her Clan; caution helped her survive her role but it couldn’t keep her from doing it.

“And how would you do that?” his question was dismissive; like so many he underestimated her ability to succeed.

“Any way I had to.” Nira let the implied threat leak into her words and Solas finally looked at her like he saw her.

“Thank you.” His sincerity made her look away and flush.

So she distracted the conversation back to his comment about the battlefields, Fade and flesh. Solas seemed to tolerate her curiosity with a greater margin of patience after that as she mined him for whatever knowledge she could from his experiences. She might seem the country bumpkin to him despite all claims that he was the solitary wanderer, but Nira had been given to the Scouts by her mother and grew up speaking birdsong more than her own language. What little magical control she had developed before would not be enough now that she had a conflagration of Power inside, but Nira had no one else to turn to if she wanted to survive instead of be consumed. Solas had a lifetime of magical practice she lacked, and even if she would make sure he would never know it, Nira had to model her growing skills after someone that viewed the world more like she did. Vivienne left her wanting to drown the pristine Circle mage in the sticky black tar her Clan had once come across, her ambitions and political maneuvering were exquisite but the moment she spoke to Nira any hope of learning from her died. The woman was insufferably satisfied with herself and her own achievements, and couldn’t see further than her own experiences; the other Circle mages were all even less capable of independent thought than Nira had ever feared. No, if Nira wanted to master her new Power while none were the wiser for her struggles, she had to emulate the one mage that felt at all similar to herself; Solas. How the one person that should have made her feel the most at home left her feeling the most adrift was beyond Nira and the constant push-pull of their interactions left her wary and weary. He was no Dalish but he was more like her than the plain faced Elf servants she came across, and far preferable to the offensive flat ear Sera; at least he didn’t mock her faith **and** fear her magic.

Nira knew better than to expect to find a place here in the heart of a human army, but it still rankled that for all that she was supposedly their Herald she was still very much the outsider. Cassandra watched her carefully and Nira now realized that the woman wasn’t waiting for her to break and become a blood mage, she simply expected Nira to fail entirely. Not for her status as a mage or even the fact that she was Dalish, but because Cassandra had seemed to accept that her life would be spent wading through blood so why not Nira’s as well? The woman was emotionally hurt but healing, and Nira played to the woman’s surprisingly deep heartstrings. Cassandra was the strong arm of the Faith, and since she never fought Nira when she declared herself NOT the Herald of Andraste Nira even forgave Cassandra for her first attitudes, as long as she continued to show a change of nature. For now she continued to play friendly, patient, compromising Nira whenever possible; it gained the most respect and traction with the bulk of her growing advisors and companions.

The Iron Bull and Blackwall needed to be handled more carefully; both of their loyalties were to Authorities not to the Inquisition directly. The Warden came willingly; once he heard that the rest of his kind had vanished guilt and curiosity had driven him into her service. But Nira would not forget that Pia Surana had been a Circle Mage claimed by the Wardens, sent to fight their war on her own, and then died for their cause in under a year. Their very motto embraced the concept of sacrificing the one for the many, and Nira refused to ever be the one sacrificed. Instead she used what little skills she had and played to the fact that she looked devastatingly fragile. She was more than capable of handling herself, a Scout never truly rests or relies on anyone after all, but she saw that his nature was to protect and if she could use that to her advantage she would. When a shield volunteers itself, it would take a fool to deny them. And although Nira considered herself many things, foolish was not one of them. At least she hadn’t considered herself foolish until the hairy shemlen made his flirtations more obvious to her and she’d retreated rapidly.

Bull made her laugh, which made Nira not trust him as far as she could throw him. He was honest about being a spy, honest about how he planned to go about reporting in, and honest about what answers he gave her whenever she pestered him with questions. His honesty unnerved her. So did how badly she wanted to be friends with someone, and apparently the lying, spying Qunari was whom her instincts pegged as the one most likely to remain a steadfast friend. Like her magic and her memories, it seemed now her instincts couldn’t be trusted; it left Nira snarling and despairing but trying to show none of it.

\--

It was an interesting feat, to watch the da’fen test the perimeter of her new cage. She seemed like all wild creatures contained thusly, observing and preparing for escape. And the members of the Inquisition itself seemed to only increase Nira’s skittishness as they fumbled around her untamed nature. Frustratingly this included Solas as well. In the time since they’d officially met on the mountain, he had made very little headway on his task of actually understanding Nira. His first breakthrough had been discovering that Nira wasn’t even her name, it was simply the one she had told Cassandra and Leliana to call her by. He wondered briefly if it said anything about her nature that she chose the Elvhenan word for Dance as her name. Unfortunately he could not hazard a guess to what was her real title, and thus could not claim to know why she went by the foreshortened name. And Solas truly hated not knowing what should be a simple answer to a simple question; who was it that had his Power inside her?

Even now he wanted to rush to her side and demand answers, explanations. But to see her and be near her meant he had to feel his Power so temptingly close and so impossibly resistant to his commands. Solas knew his anger never showed on his face but he could feel the connection between him and the da’fen all but vibrate with it; they seemed drawn to each other at their most agitated times. It was no surprise to him at all when he felt that weak bond jumble with her reactions; unpleasant but not surprising, and feeling it warn of her approach was at least a beneficial side effect.

“Closing the Breach is our primary goal, but I hope we might also discover what was used to create it.” Solas ventured when he knew she was close enough to hear. The da’fen was riled already, matching his mood as some commentary or conversation left her unsettled so that she stalked by his area. They circled each other constantly, like wary animals pacing the lines of their territory, untrusting of the other and unwilling to give any their backs. “Any artifact of such Power is dangerous. The destruction of the Conclave proves that much.”

“You don’t think whatever created the explosion was destroyed in the blast?” her head tilted as she ran the concept through her mind, and Solas was not surprised to find hidden depths of intelligence revealed in her adaptability.

“You survived, did you not?” he didn’t mean to let as much amusement come through his tone as did; she tended to be sensitive about his mocking but ignored all others. “The artifact that created the Breach is unlike anything seen in this Age,” he knew that; having spent the immediate time after waking trying to track down any others that might have survived. Like himself, his Orb had been the last of its kind. “I will not believe it destroyed until I see the shattered fragments with my own eyes.” Now his sadness stained the words instead of teasing laughter.

“Agreed.” Nira’s easy acceptance of his plan surprised him, and he felt her scrutiny as she studied him out of her peripheral vision. She was a constant paradox, the Power inside screaming to all she was a Mage and yet her habits and lifestyle were those of a simple Scout. In the Fade where so many were hesitant and weak she showed defiance and strength, and yet out in the waking world she only existed half in the moment, always ready to withdraw and retreat at the first signs of trouble. He wanted to demand answers from her and shield her from the dangers of the world at the same time. As one of the greatest dangers in the world, it was an agitating position to be in.

“Leliana’s people have scoured the area near the blast and found nothing. Whatever the artifact was, it is no longer there.” He made himself conclude almost lamely, her assessing gaze skirting from head to toe and away as if she hadn’t meant to even look at him.

“Shemlen unable to find an artifact of Power, I’ll mark note of it. Maybe I should plant a tree.” Nira’s tone mimicked that of the cold Court Enchanter but lacked the diplomacy of the more skilled Game Player. It was still an interesting indication of whom she’d been spending her time with and around. He wondered how much longer until she approached him for training her new Power. None of these other mages had any familiarity, or even any chance of helping her figure out the new depths available to her. And yet the da’fen didn’t so much as speak a word of it to him or any other that he had heard. If she refused to accept training in the waking world, he may have to find a way to convince her to do so in the Fade.

“What can you tell me of the Breach?” her question pulled his attention off of his plans and back to the agitated mage trying not to watch him.

Now his head tilted in curiosity at her question, it was not the one he’d been anticipating. “Simply put, it is a tear in the Veil between this world and the Fade, allowing spirits to enter the world physically.” His pedantic explanation earned him a darker scowl and Solas smiled as he got to the point he assumed she wanted. “Your Mark allows you to exert some control over the Breach; that means it was created deliberately.”

Nira gave an infinitesimal head nod, confirming that she had already made that same conclusion herself. And without much of the background knowledge to do so; her mind was an interesting puzzle. He had yet to approach her in the Fade again, curiosity and frustration both commanded by his patience as he watched her from a safer distance than that first encounter. And yet this child broke his careful discipline in the most aggravating of ways. She refused to come to him for training her stolen Power or treat him with deference and respect, and yet she didn’t at all hesitate to pester him with questions or title him Hahren.

“Tell me about yourself.” Nira demanded from him even though she withheld her own information; the brief story behind her birth only leaving more questions.

“Why?” his anger at the question leaked through, colouring the question and he saw Nira smile slightly. Touché da’fen, touché.

“You’re an Elvhen apostate that came to the Chantry and volunteered,” she carefully parroted words he’d used in one of their first meetings and he smiled. She gave off a constant air of barely tamed wildness and yet he was certain she could perfectly quote every conversation she’d had since waking with his Power in her palm. And it was through no interference on his part; that was apparently a natural aspect of her personality.

“Not the wisest course of action when framed that way.” Solas shot back, his self-deprecation catching Nira off guard. Her hostility seemed to diminish whenever her curiosity took over, so when she pressed for more he actually gave her a vague description of his youth. The village he’d grown up in, the lure of the Spirits that had called to him long before the Veil had ever silenced his world; all he referenced after carefully censoring anything too sensitive. It still hurt to remember but seeing her concealed fascination over his words helped to ease some of the sting away. What mage carried that much Power within herself and yet knew so little of the Fade she manipulated with it?

“Is this why you joined the Inquisition?” Nira surprised them both when she interrupted him.

“I joined the Inquisition because we were all in terrible danger.” His humour had entirely left him at the reminder of another failure. “If our enemies destroyed the world, I would have nowhere to lay my head while dreaming of the Fade.” He tried to turn it into an ill-conceived joke but it fell flat.

“Ah.” Nira seemed as unsatisfied with that answer as Solas was to have given it.

“Nira…that is why I joined, not why I stayed.” Now Solas was surprised by the interjection, not having planned to reveal such a fact to anyone but more surprised by the unexpected flush his words pulled to Nira’s wind-burned skin.

“Well I wish you luck.” Her response was a neutral statement but that blush on her cheeks belied her ease.

“Thank you.” He inclined his head graciously. “In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade.” He decided to press, intrigued to see her reactions. Nira Lavellan was chaotic as a river after the winter thaw, dangerous and beautiful and so very tempting to see if he could master the current. And that was as far from his intended plans as he could conceive of so he forced the thought away angrily.

“How so?” she sounded so doubtful that it actually bothered him. If none had ever shown her the joys of manipulating the Fade, how had she ever learned to survive to adulthood?

“You’ve trained your Will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit.” He circled around her as they spoke, seeing that even here inside Haven she carried supplies on her body to survive alone in the woods. “You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I.” she couldn’t see his eyes sweep over her body in an approving assessment.

“Indomitable focus?” Nira demanded as he stopped his pacing, standing close in front her now. And that blush on her cheeks flared to life again, an uncontrolled response that she had to be seething at. He fought to keep the smirk off of his face.

“Presumably; I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine that the sight would be…fascinating.” He even leaned towards her slightly with the last word and saw Nira blink and still like she had in the Fade. He knew this dance and stepped back and away before the prick of her little dagger could once again catch him unwary.

“Nothing is indomitable, all things break.” Nira warned as she watched him with caution in her eyes, but she didn’t flee.

“Very true Da’len. And with the added burden of the mark in your palm, I can only imagine the stresses your focus has gone through.” Solas used the younger mage’s words to lead to the conversation he wanted. “Have you gotten the chance to explore the new bounds this must have placed on your abilities?” and for some reason his concern made her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“The bounds of my abilities are not your concerns Solas, I will not fail.” She warned and he realized the error of his earlier question. Whatever life Nira had led before stealing his Power and joining the Inquisition, he had already seen that she lived and breathed defiant anger in the Fade. She may hide that nature more carefully in the waking world but Solas had seen her true self when Fen’Harel had bled.

“I don’t doubt your ability to succeed, Herald of Andraste,” she shot him another slightly annoyed look but remained silent so he continued, “merely that I do not wish to see you…consumed by the unknown magic that has so clearly Marked you.” And he wasn’t exactly sure if he’d reached for her or if she’d given him her hand to examine the swirling green in her palm, but they both looked down at it now. And then for some utterly inexplicable reason, Solas found he was stroking his fingers and his magic against the Mark, both sensing so much more than simple wounded flesh and magic.

Nira had let out a startled breath and then utterly vanished from his grasp. Her Step was faulty and awkward, and he could feel her all but punch her way through the layers of magic as she fled from what he had just done. It had not been intentional but Solas couldn’t help the slight smile as he realized that for all her defiance and anger, da’fen was also very much a curious creature. He may not have intended to demonstrate his magic to her but now that she knew that kind of control was possible, he knew she’d come back to him to learn how. He was curious to see if she would approach him here or if he would once again have to hunt in the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATION:  
> Ladarelan= Healer


	4. Harilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nira's feet take her forwards but her mind reviews the past. The Inquisition has a Herald but Nira is left wondering what her Duty is now.
> 
> Fen'Harel hunts answers and instead finds a bear.

There were a few awkward moments very early on the first mission they had Nira go on; a result of Nira having learned to work alone and rely only on herself. She had very few memories of living within the gathered numbers of Clan Lavellan as a child. What little Nira did remember was that she was handed from person to person to look after but never kept by any of them, her mother oddly insistent that Nira remain known as her child even as she seemed to resent Nira for existing at all. It had been quite the firm lesson when Nira had accidentally called the Halla Hahren Mae; that had been the incident that prompted her mother to put her in Hahren Brasirotha’s tutelage after her fifth summer.

Her new Hahren Brasirotha was the Clan’s Master Scout and taught Nira the quiet skills she would need to fulfill her purpose to her Clan. Vir Tanadhal became her way of life, a ritual of duty to replace the tutelage her Mae was supposed to impart, and the arts of the Scout became her means of escaping the rejection she felt from her Clan. There were no other half breeds despite the closeness Lavellan still maintained with shemlen populations, and her mothers’ constant dislike affected how many of the others reacted to Nira’s presence. But the Scouts cared nothing for the blood in the veins as long as the body was willing to spill it in duty for the Clan.

Vir Assan was her daily life. The way of the Arrow was to fly straight and not waver; Nira was expected to be swift and silent, to strike true every time she struck at all, and to not let her prey suffer. Brasirotha taught her how a Scout determined the path the Clan would follow. The instincts trained into her, and eventually her experiences, would take her into the unmarked forest to find a route the aravels and halla could follow, and if Nira came across trace of a threat to the Clan she would seek it out. A Scout would be expected to determine the level of danger the threat presented to the Clan as a whole and if possible eliminate it; as she was far from a Master Scout Brasirotha would often accompany her but stay silent in the back, letting Nira put to test the skills they were teaching her. So although she faced many threats in her training, she was never wholly at risk. Occasionally one of the other Scouts wouldn’t return and the Clan would detour around the entire area, a lesson for Nira to not let fear of pain or death stop her from finding all threats on the path before they could find her.

The Arlathven changed everything.

She’d grown under the years of Brasirotha’s quiet guidance, adopting the life of a Scout and no longer accustomed to being surrounded by the noise and heat of bodies in a Clan. The Arlathven was so much more chaotic than even the few Clan gatherings she attended anymore, and Nira found herself wary and cautious and yet so painfully curious. She’d lived in the trees and wind, fingers and toes accustomed to the feel of grass and dirt, sharp rock and wet rain; the gentle touches she saw shared amongst so many were unknown and strange. But she was a Scout, none of her fear or curiosity stopped her. Nira may not have known how to be a Dalish amongst the Clans but she had grown by watching wolf packs prowl, halla herds guide each other, and the careful interplay of wild life hierarchy. It bore up surprisingly well with so many civilians clustered together; for all that the Dalish liked to believe they were superior to the animals they hunted and ate, to Nira they were all just more complex animals. Animals with instincts and habits that she could learn to predict if she was careful enough. And even if she were still a child, Nira had learned to be careful.

It wasn’t enough.

Her magic presented.

Any time a Dalish child revealed magical talent it opened up opportunities for all of the Clans. Lavellan had a strong Keeper and a First already; other Clans could have used a young, relatively unattached mage. Except that it also became clear to any and all with the Sense that she was mixed. Not a lot of Clans had the openness that Lavellan had for the shemlen, and what should have been Nira’s liberation became her mother’s humiliation. It was believed that Nira’s weak magical skills were due to the human dilution; when real Dalish da’len were mages flowers bloomed in their steps or wild fires burned with impressive fury. Nira’s magic had not come roaring to life; instead she’d been concentrating on playing a game of ‘could she walk through the crowded Arlathven market without touching anyone’, and apparently a little spell wisp had come into existence over her shoulder. Small and weak, it was still enough for the Elvhen mages to feel what she was.

Brasirotha later told Nira that a Clan with a no shemlen tolerance had dropped her battered body at her mother’s feet with a warning that Clan Lavellan was banal’varem to them. At least until they cleansed the shame from their midst. The Keeper of that Clan had left Nira alive as an act of scorn not mercy, not at all caring that a child of eleven wasn’t guilty just because she existed.

Nira didn’t remember the attack. Only a moment where her instincts suddenly screamed at her in warning but she’d never expected an attack from her own people. It was not a mistake she would make again.

After she healed enough Hahren Brasirotha gifted to her a bracer with a blade hidden inside. Her rope dart was lovely at a distance but not as much use to her within an angry mob and Nira was pragmatic enough to accept the secondary weapon without complaint. Keeper Istimaethoriel had not taken the revelation of Nira’s magic and her consequent outing as a half-breed to the other Clans as well. Not that her displeasure was revealed to others; as Keeper she was also the Clan Healer and while recovering Nira was in her Mae’s aravel.

The closed space of a Keeper’s aravel hid all kinds of unspoken trespasses.

Presenting as a mage had gotten Nira into a very unwanted situation, and it compounded the issue as well. She was utterly untrained on how to manipulate the Elgar’vhen’an, or how to resist the corrupted spirits that would hunt her there. Sleeping would put her at particular risk, she was fresh bloody meat to draw the predators and Nira was already a target for Fen’Harel thanks to the name her Mae had branded her with; now other monsters would stalk her from the dark. Rest had already been a precious commodity for a Scout, now Nira found herself napping in short batches whenever necessary just to keep going to avoid the demons. It always was harder to hit a moving target.

Vir Bor’assan, the Way of the Bow was her touchstone for handling magic. Bend but never break- in yielding, she would find resilience; in pliancy, she could find strength. Nira’s pain was a part of her but it didn’t own her, likewise she accepted the presence of magic she had never desired and seemed useless to her. Her body had been honed into a tool she used to fulfill her duties and she would master her magic with the same ferocious determination regardless of the content of her Mae’s strict lessons. Stubbornness was a trait both mother and daughter shared.

They had spoken only the barest words over Nira’s young lifetime; her own always obligingly respectful while her Keeper mother would vary between acidic vitriol in private and cold apathy in public. By the time bones had reset enough to take weight Nira’s lessons turned practical; if only to keep mother and daughter from familicide.

Deshanna Istimaethoriel was a strong Keeper, her spells astonishing in their intensity. Once after a particularly terrible winter bandits had attacked the Clan for their food and supplies; Deshanna had unleashed Nature’s Vengeance upon them. It had been a very visceral and visual lesson for all within the Clan of their Keeper’s love and protection; all of the shemlen had been torn apart by roots and vines, thorns no larger than a bee’s stinger shredding flesh from bones with disgusting efficiency once enough were unleashed. None of the Clan had been lost that day.

Nira had difficulties keeping even a small spell wisp summoned. At first her instincts shied away from the magic suddenly swimming in her veins and it was utterly unnatural feeling for her to use it at all. It wasn’t until she discovered the practical aspects magic could have for her role as a Scout that Nira truly accepted that being a mage was not simply another burden for her to bear. Her mother only seemed to tolerate Nira’s magic if it served the purpose she determined; Deshanna was a strong Keeper and their First Ilriane was one of the few shapeshifters that any Clan could boast, so Nira’s magic was supposed to fill in the gap between Keeper and First. That meant that Keeper Deshanna tried repeatedly to teach Nira how to be a Healer, how to take over the care of their People so that she could finally have a purpose within the Clan. Nira couldn’t heal a paper cut. It was pounded into Nira’s head that her magic should be strong enough to help settle the fear of her People, to help calm and guide them. That was not where the limited strength of her magic lay though.

Over the next year Nira was constantly pulled between the two worlds of her duties to the Clan. As a Scout she revelled in the opportunity to be out in the woods; dirt between her toes and the breath in her lungs the only tool she could rely on. The pitiful spell wisp that had caused her so much initial grief was a useful light in the darkness where no torch could burn, and soon Nira learned that while she couldn’t become the wolves or deer like Ilriane could she had the ability to summon a stinging swarm to chase off the real beasts of the forest. Death was a part of life, but she saw no need to slaughter animals if it wasn’t for food. But Deshanna was still determined that even a weak half breed mage would serve the Clan in the way that the Keeper determined, so for every day Nira was free in the forest she was also bound to her mother’s side for instruction.

Brasirotha was the only one with the confidence to tell Deshanna that she was ruining a good Scout by trying to make her a Mage. And then a deal was struck between Keeper and Master Scout that Nira wasn’t to learn of until the time of her Vallaslin. Nira was to be a Scout, given only enough training in magic so that she was neither a threat to herself nor the Clan, but then left in peace to fulfill her Duty.

It was the happiest years of Nira’s life. Her skills had advanced enough to keep her alive, which meant that she no longer had to Scout under supervision. Her magic was weak enough that even the spirits seemed uninterested in her, and Nira found that the moment she stopped forcing it her control became natural. She was not the Keeper and her magics were not the kind she could protect the Clan with, and that seemed to finally be okay. Spell wisps and stinging swarms could pester but not protect. The only ward Nira seemed able to summon was the one that rendered all magic null, and Brasirotha murmured that it was the only ward Nira wanted just to keep her Mother at bay. And it took Ilriane’s assistance to determine that Nira could hook into the mana of another mage to slowly drain it away without them ever noticing. But again it was a slower process than protecting the Clan required.

Her ability to violently attack with magic was even more pitiful. She had just enough command over fire to cause sparks, ice seemed to taunt her as it swirled into existence and then vanished, and the storm skated along her skin without ever coming into full existence. None of that was an issue as she moved over hilly ground and tracked ancient traces to safety for the Clan.

But Brasirotha’s deal came due.

Nira had become the lead Scout for the Clan because she had the best natural aptitude for it. That wasn’t enough for her mother though. It was the time of Nira’s Vallaslin, her final passage into being an adult of the Clan and the time she thought she could finally put away all worry over being a mage and focus on being a Scout. Brasirotha had reared her under Vir Tanadhal; Andruil seemed the logical choice for Nira to claim as her patron god. She did not know that her freedom over the last few years had been bought at the cost of her own future.

Brasirotha led her in to the center of the Clan where the witnesses to her receiving her Vallaslin were. These were the People that Nira was supposed to have grown up amongst but they were virtual strangers to her now, their presence offering neither comfort nor concern. The Scouts were silent on the fringe, only a few could be present but Nira felt their silent support anyways. And when Deshanna had turned and actually smiled at her, Nira had known that something terrible was happening. Nira’s Hahren wouldn’t meet her eyes and her Mother wouldn’t stop looking smug and Nira had felt her blood run cold.

“Daughter,” Deshanna had started and Nira buried her emotions to safeguard them from the Keeper, “you are a child only the Great Mother could carry in her heart and it is appropriate that you bear Her brands. And it is glorious that a Scout for our Clan is going to bear Mythal’s markings in the Traditional style.” Now the Clan muttered and murmured and Nira stayed silent while her mother gloated.

Vallaslin was facial markings amongst the Dalish, the blood writing a long and painful process where the child could make no noise. But according to recovered Traditions, Vallaslin had once been used to mark the entire body as well and Deshanna was planning to inflict that on Nira now. For a god not of Nira’s own choosing, though Mythal was not an insult to her.

Nira stayed silent, some instinct warning that Deshanna wanted her to object or argue. The Keeper could declare any child not ready for Vallaslin and it was not supposed to be an insult, but Nira didn’t want to give Deshanna or the Clan the satisfaction of believing her human blood had made her weaker or unworthy. If they wanted to etch a dedication to Mythal into Nira’s skin in the hopes that Nira would crumble then she would show them what a Scout was made of. She might technically be a child until the blood writing was done but Nira had faced down raging bears and rampaging shemlen, the uncontrolled chaos of winter thaws flooding rivers and the crisp terror of a forest fire chasing at her heels; she would not falter now.

Nira was unsurprised to see that blood red had been chosen for the colour of her Vallaslin; her brief magical history lessons had taught that the Forgotten Ones had preferred red over the other colours for their Vallaslin and Keeper Istimaethoriel was absurd like that. Nira’s full name was proof of it.

The pain was different than anything else Nira had experienced in her eighteen summers, pulling as much from inside her veins as it dug into her flesh and burned through her aura. Thirteen hours later and Nira was an adult and she thought her torment was over. Traditional etchings were scratched from the brow of her head to the bottoms of her feet and Nira had never flinched. Inside she screamed and raged; sobbed through the pain and swore at the Hahren that hadn’t warned her of what was coming, but her face and body revealed nothing of it as Nira meditated through the pain.

That should have been the last demand on her; she should have been free to continue being a Scout and slowly working to become Hahren Brasirotha’s eventual replacement.

“Time for the child to put away childish things and rise as an adult of the Dalish,” the Keeper’s words were traditional but Nira knew her mother meant no real welcome to her words. “We have a new adult Clan Lavellan.” A dozen pair of eyes peered down at Nira and she ignored the judgement as her mother stilled in front of her. “And Mythal will have to bless you as you do your duty to our People. Hahren Brasirotha has brought forward an elegant solution to the…issues your circumstances have caused and First Ilriane has agreed to try and use your lineage to breed stronger magic into our Clan despite your…heritage.”

The shock of the pronouncement had to have shown on her face as the Keeper waited for her to object. Her Hahren had set her up to be a brood mare for the Clan, her human blood making her an unworthy Keeper or First but the magic from her mother was still desirable enough to try and breed the human out of Nira’s blood it seemed. If she bore a child it would be more Dalish than she and likewise more acceptable, and the belief was that the magic that child brought would also be stronger.

Vir Adahlen, the Way of the Forest, respect the sacrifice of one for the many.

Nira had only ever thought about it as killing animals for food, or dying to help keep someone else alive, not her own body sacrificed to breed mage babies for the Clan. Her position as Head Scout would remain, but now she was expected to lay with the First at night when she returned to the Clan. The First, at least, seemed to respect the time it took Nira to adjust to the new arrangement.

Nira hadn’t spoken to Brasirotha the night she was first marked, or in all the time she served as her mother’s unsuccessful brood mare. In fact Nira stopped talking altogether unless absolutely required for her duties, and now she knew her duties required very little in the way of her opinion.

There were no children from the venture, even after two years, and at the Arlathven Nira was an embarrassment to her Clan once again. Clan Lavellan hadn’t known what to make of the silent Scout with mage abilities and an apparently barren womb. Only Nira knew that she had ensured that her body might be used but it would not produce until she allowed it. Death magic was her only magical skill after all.

The Inquisition members travelling with her out to the Hinterlands knew none of this, their assumptions about each other hindering any cohesion the group should have formed. Seeker Cassandra demanded respect and obedience but refused to lead. Hahren Solas watched and criticized but never failed to step in when needed. Storyteller Varric laughed and followed but everything was fodder for his stories. And Nira reluctantly led, doing duty for a people that were as much hers as she was the Clans. And all the while she felt the hot breath of Fen’Harel down her spine whenever she slept; the monsters that started hunting her in the dark so many years ago once again called to her scent now that she had Power.

\--

It was an interesting thing, watching her in the Fade. Her magic was quiet, subtle and close to her skin like a camouflage; even buoyed by his Power Nira managed to hide herself in the Fade in the most creative of ways. Of course Fen’Harel had more tricks to play than the da’fen did so he always found her, eventually. But the clever little Scout learned quickly to adapt the Fade as much as her plans and their game continued to evolve.

There was no simple campfire waiting tonight, her quaint little Dalish habit abandoned. It seemed Nira had discovered his lurking presence despite him keeping his distance; the Fade was an unrecognizable forest. It felt similar to all the woods he had ever walked and yet looked exactly like none of them. He knew his teeth flashed as his tongue lolled with silent laughter, the da’fen had apparently figured that the Dread Wolf would have a harder time finding her in the Fade if she herself didn’t know where she was. It was an ingenious attempt, but not one that would work if he truly wanted to find her.

On most nights when he watched her from the shadows of the Fade the snow was crisp and cold, the soft crunch under the pads of his paws natural and comforting. Tonight the snow was slightly melted, unpleasant heaviness sticking to the fur along his hind and legs as he followed false scent trails. His many eyes sought further clues that she would be unable to conceal so easily, the lope of his body lazy to the watching spirits. He could maintain this pace indefinitely without fatigue normally, though tonight there was a constant sense of slowly draining energy. Still, it took no effort of will for him to speed up as he felt a pulse of her new Power in the distance.

Mud soon splattered onto him as well as the wet, heavy snow. The firmly frozen ground was replaced with a quagmire of muck, meant to slow his advance no doubt. He was amused by her attempts to elude him but he down right enjoyed Nira’s offensive maneuvers. Unstable ground slowed his run, the snow and mud cemented to his fur and hindered his movements until he took the time to scrape it away. The fatigue plaguing him increased, a faint headache throbbing behind his many sets of eyes warning that it was an unnatural tiredness with a spiteful da’fen as its source. How someone so pitifully untrained had figured out how to tag the Dread Wolf with mana drain was an affront to his pride, and irritation left him all but biting at the air as his stolen Power pulsed enticing him onwards.

Now he had to put an effort of Will into freezing the ground solid, the only way to forge a path without sloughing through elbow deep mud. And as soon as he solved one obstacle, she had another one ready to test him. The very trees became his next opponent, the space of maple replaced by the sharply clustered aspen, blocking his way forwards. To continue without just pushing through the trees like a brute he’d had to diminish the bulk of his current form.

Nira was testing him, seeing his reactions to her obstacles and drawing conclusions about his intentions no doubt. But that meant she had to have a way to watch him where he was right now. So where was she?

This time when the Power pulsed he saw it for the bait it was; in itself an unexpectedly complex replica that he was sorely tempted to investigate for its own sake. But his primary goal was finding the source of his amusement and ire, so instead he searched the area around him intensely; eyes seeing through the layers of magic disguising the Fade. She was not a Hunter trying to slay the beast; her will to live was strong enough that he knew she would pick intelligent caution over flamboyant action. Nira was no match for him even enhanced by the Mark, a fact that neither one of them felt the need to acknowledge directly. This wasn’t about defeating him, but escaping to live another day. If he wanted to predict her actions, he couldn’t think of her as a Mage.

Her lure then wasn’t an ambush; it had been designed to do exactly what was needed to make him reveal himself and take his focus away from Nira’s location. As his eyes finally locked onto hers, he knew his jaw unhinged in a wolf’s grin. “My da’fen, there is no hiding from me.”

The warning was as much playful taunt as it was careful truth, and he exerted his Will to take control of the Fade, shaping the forest into a place he knew well but she would only have heard of in tales; Elvhenan.

It succeeded in putting caution into her, her eyes going wide as she stared past his lumbering form and to the crystals spiraling into the air. Above castles would float, held aloft by easy magic and the very air was saturated with Power just waiting to be claimed. But it was just a memory though, the castles, crystals, and Power gone; the sensations he invoked no more real than the bait Nira had used to lure him. He shattered the memory apart, dark rage flaring to life at the reminder of failures both of his own making and those of others.

Crouched low now with a small blade bared Nira waited, her body tensed for an attack. His rage stained the air around him, the Fade gladly feeding off that source as much as it had from her elusive forest, and yet she simply watched him. Running would not save her and seemed to be antithetical to her nature, she would face even an overwhelming opponent head on and he had bled once before in proof of that fact. But she was not snarling and attacking in the face of his disquiet this time. Her eyes were narrow, flickering over the entirety of his massive form, the fangs that could easily break her bones as interesting to her as the careful layering of fur over the vulnerable expanse of his throat. She seemed to catalogue exactly what set of eyes looked in which direction even as her body carefully echoed any movement that shifted his frame.

Sleep shattered apart and Solas opened his eyes in the waking world, the wards around their camp screaming to life as something tried to attack in the dead of night. Cassandra had been on sentry duty, her sword and shield standing ready as an actual bear lumbered into the camp. Varric all but tumbled from the tent behind Solas, the crossbow twanging a slightly discordant sound as he entered the fray. Solas spared a moment to stare towards where he expected Nira to emerge, but the little Scout wasn’t there.

The bear roared at them, enraged and unwell to take on such numbers. Animals had better sense normally. The bear rose onto its hind legs, the massive size barely registering to Solas as he realized the Giant Bear had to have been unleashed at them. There was no way that it would have targeted the camp otherwise. It made him reluctant to engage, not wanting to kill an animal simply because some mage somewhere had forced it here. It was a sentiment that neither Cassandra nor Varric shared as they unleashed their fear and fury at the beast, but both were confounded when a sudden swarm of insects suddenly swam into the air. There was only the faintest of magical traces to the swarm, the only indication that Nira was involved in this fight as well as she remained hidden from view.

The Great Bear shook and snorted, unable to chase off the insects even if Cassandra and Varric were held back. And Warrior, Rogue, and Mage alike all froze for a heartbeat as a wolf’s howl tore through the night air, alarmingly nearby. He didn’t hear the rest of the pack answer as the Great Bear roared in response, blowing air out noisily afterwards. Solas settled barrier over him and the two companions he could see, irritated that Nira had vanished. He couldn’t keep her and his Power alive if she continued to insist on working alone and it was much harder to find Nira outside of the Fade.

A Great Bear attacking was bad enough, but if they had a wolf pack unleashed on them as well there was going to be blood shortly; some of it likely their own. Even as Solas readied his magic to unleash bitter cold down the bear’s throat the wolf howled again. Only this time he felt a Push as well, magical fear cocooning the bear. The Bear once again grumbled in response to the howl but actually showed its caution, even Cassandra reading the hesitation off the beast now. A longer call from the wolf and finally in the distance they heard a wolf pack call back.

 It was enough for the bear to break whatever geas upon it; the natural instinct to survive stronger than the magic used to compel and it lumbered off with a disgruntled whine, the massive hide barely even showing the efforts of Cassandra and Varric’s defence. And of course now the others could focus their attention on the missing member.

“Herald?!” adrenaline left Cassandra’s tone curt to Solas’ ears as she threw open the tent flap that the female members of their party shared. Solas didn’t look inside, already knowing it was empty.

A soft whistle pulled their attention from the tent and onto the copse of trees they’d set up near. Impossibly Nira was perched up one of the narrow trees and barely discernable to the naked eye, watching the entire series of events with evident amusement. Solas felt one of his eyebrows quirk upwards as his companions spun in surprise, neither one having expected Nira to get from her tent and into the trees without anyone noticing. She dropped down, as silent as she’d been ascending, and walked towards them. Solas wondered briefly if she even realized how angry the Seeker was or that even Varric seemed sharply discomforted by Nira’s actions.

“I know they say caution is the better part of valour,” Varric’s friendly tone had a slight edge to it, “but I’m fairly certain that hiding in a tree while the rest of us fight is a bad way to make friends.”

Nira gave him a slightly amused look but Cassandra gave her no time to speak, “Herald, I must insist that if you are uncomfortable fighting that you remain within the camp and where we can better defend you.”

The amusement washed off of Nira’s face, more affective at silencing the Seeker than any words could have been. And then Nira tilted her face upwards and let loose the exact same wolf howl that had chased off the bear. It sent a chill down his spine as Solas realized she had the sound imitated perfectly, and the wolves in the distance were closer now as they called back. With her head tilted to the side now, Nira stopped paying attention to her companions entirely and Solas was free to watch with curiosity as she called back to them. And yet she wasn’t a shapeshifter, her magic the wrong flavour for that use.

“I…I…” Cassandra floundered and even Varric seemed struck dumb.

“It seems that you need no weapon to be a formidable opponent da’fen.” He complimented obliquely, her eyes narrowing at the term.

“Why kill an animal we don’t intend to eat? It didn’t want to be here anymore than we wanted it here; animals don’t act like that naturally.” Nira finally spoke in her own defence.

“So you chased it off?” Cassandra demanded incredulously and Solas could see a flash of confusion in Nira’s eyes that she quickly hid.

“Yes.” She kept her answer unsatisfyingly short. They hadn’t felt the fear she’d pushed onto the bear but Solas had. And yet he remained silent, interested to see if Nira would continue to explain her actions and reasoning to Cassandra.

“That’s bad ass little wolf.” Varric laughed as he complimented and only Solas saw Nira actually flinch at the nickname.

He’d seen her hold steady through facing him down in his Fen’Harel form and yet being called a little wolf made her react. It made him eager to discover why but Solas knew he’d have to bide his time. If she still hadn’t come to him for training there was very little chance that she would tolerate him prying into her inner psyche either, though Solas wasn’t too proud to admit at being irritated that Varric had chosen the same name for her as he had. But he was patient enough to wait for a better time to pursue answers.

“As it is unlikely any of us will find rest now, why don’t we break camp and move on?” Solas offered a suggestion, finally pulling Nira’s attention to himself.

Her eyes skirted over him, a quick assessment to see if there were any injuries but Solas had to fight to keep his smirk from showing; she only looked over the other two after verifying that he was alright first. For all that they continued to circle each other like wary wolves on disputed territory, and that metaphor did make him smile softly, they were also more alike than any of the other companions.

“What about that wolf pack you called in, are they going to be a problem?” Varric worried when no one objected to Solas’ suggestion to move on.

“No.” Nira shrugged his concern off, turning to help break down their camp without further commentary.

Varric stared after her for a moment before looking up at Solas. “Is that a Dalish thing, a female thing, or just a Nira thing?” the Dwarf demanded.

Solas smiled, sympathizing slightly with his verbose companion. “I believe it would be a mistake to think Nira is anything but herself first.”

“That’s not exactly comforting Chuckles…” Varric shouldered his crossbow. Solas didn’t bother to put voice to the fact that it wasn’t supposed to be a comfort. Their little wolf was far more interesting than she wanted to seem, and Solas was determined to discover everything there was about her. This was the most fun he’d had since before the Veil was created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brasirotha= swift shadow  
> Arlathven= a gathering of Clans so that the Keepers may share any newly recovered histories or knowledge, occurs every ten years.  
> Mae= mom, mother  
> Banal’varem= exiled  
> Elgar’vhen’an= Fade, lit. home of the spirits  
> Ilriane= mind like a cage


	5. Genise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Scouts are reported stolen in the Fallow Mire, Nira needs no encouragement to go rescue them. 
> 
> Solas realizes he's not the only one watching the Herald carefully.

Sloughing through the muck of the Fallow Mire was an unpleasant experience, the strangely putrid clay and dirt all but cementing itself to Nira’s feet as she waded through the knee deep water towards yet another hillock of dry ground. At least Solas seemed as dissatisfied with the squelching between his toes, his elegant features turned up in disgust as their ‘dry hill’ was revealed to be another Bogfisher family nestled into the muck.

“I was not built for this kind of heroic venture Nira.” Varric complained as the knee deep water to her was hip deep for him.

“I could always ask Bull if he’d let you ride on his shoulder.” Nira quietly offered, an ever so slight smile breaking onto her face despite her attempts to appear serious.

“Yeah, thanks little wolf but I will pass on the opportunity to ride the Bull. I’ve heard stories…” Varric laughed, but Nira went utterly still as she focused past the Dwarf.

Nira knew they were all watching her now; Solas with quiet anticipation, Varric with confused curiosity and Iron Bull with amused patience, and yet none of them pressed her to explain why she was behaving strangely. That was for the best as she was staring off to the side, long past her companions and out towards where the water should have been still, calm. Dead. Well there was definitely something dead in the water; Nira was listening to what her senses were screaming at her.

“They went quiet.” Nira softly breathed out, trying to warn her companions of the impending attack.

“Who went quiet?” Varric, of course, was as silent as an avalanche.

Nira tore her gaze off of what no longer looked like an innocent ripple in the water to stare at the Dwarf incredulously. “Everything that can sense danger.” And the dead under the water jumped up to attack them.

The Iron Bull roared into battle, wading through the water without hesitation even as Solas settled Barrier over their skins. Varric’s Bianca twanged out her simple song as Nira spun her rope dart around in silent arcs. She had spirit magic, strength now unknown but still she was unable to take command of the shambling corpses coming at them. Her known spirit skills would not work on the dead, but thankfully Nira had a few tricks learned from tales of the Arcane Warriors of her People. She flooded the Power in her system through her skin and into her aura, taking the strength it offered to help her slice her opponents apart one piece at a time. For every corpse she tagged with her dart, a minor spirit targeted it for attack; alone none were lethal but dozens brought down enemies exponentially larger than themselves. Without thinking, or even being entirely aware of it, she bled off excess mana into a pool for the other mage. Solas’ winter storm or Veil strikes kept the numerous dead at a safe distance, allowing for Varric and Bull to finish them off.

But even Nira ended up gagging when the last corpse fell and she discovered that her rope dart had brought a chunk of slimy, rotting flesh back to her. She’d encountered dead and rotting things in the woods, but the oily film sloughing off the chunk of flesh would not wash clean no matter how roughly she scrubbed.

“A useful trick Herald,” Solas gestured for her soiled hand and she reluctantly held it out towards him. She allowed him to cup one hand under the back of hers even as he used a negligent gesture to call green fire into existence.

And despite her self-control, Nira jerked back with a hiss that was more agitated wild cat than civilized Herald. “Woah, Boss you ok?” Bull worried, his bulk looming in close behind Nira supportively.

“I don’t think she likes your pretty fire Chuckles.” Varric teased even as Solas stared at Nira in surprise.

“Veilfire. It is a form of sympathetic magic, a memory of flame.” Solas offered a brief explanation and Nira shifted her body language into something less obviously alarmed and defensive. Neither Bull nor Varric looked any less confused than she felt, but Nira wasn’t sure if this was a fact she should have known as a mage with proper training.

“I have never heard fire being called sympathetic before.” Varric ploughed on, verbose as always but Nira was glad for it for once.

“It burns to the intent, revealing more than just the naked eye can see.” Solas offered an explanation, a slight smile warning that he was amused by the whole exchange.

“And how is it supposed to get that shit off of her hand?” Bull sounded the suspicion Nira didn’t allow herself to voice.

Solas’ amusement didn’t diminish at all as he looked past Nira to the Qunari standing guard at her back. She should have felt like having allies put her in the position of power but Nira knew better than to believe that Solas wasn’t getting exactly what he wanted out of this exchange. Thus far all their conversations left her with the same feeling, and she suspected it would not abate any time soon. “My intent was to scour the very memory of the stench and slime from her skin. That is, of course, if Nira allows such a thing.” And he smoothly refocused onto her again.

The look he gave her when their eyes met again was pure challenge, a test to see if she was up for trusting him to cleanse her of the rotten smell. She had been cautious thus far, careful in her attempts to improve upon her vulnerabilities and weaknesses, and she had not thought that any had picked up on her lack of trust not only of them but of her own magic. He was offering the magical equivalent of a mother’s spit to wipe the dirt away, and only the two mages knew it.

So Nira smiled, the exposing of her teeth intended in the manner of most wild things, and held her contaminated hand up for all to see. And then she forced Veilfire* into existence around it to burn the putrefaction away herself, using blind instinct and spite to accomplish a skill she’d only seen the once.

And even if they didn’t understand the demonstration entirely for what it truly was, both Bull and Varric laughed at her display. Solas finally looked away from her, a satisfied smile flashing across his face before he turned from her view. “We move on.” Nira called out to the other two and allowed Solas to take point.

It was absolutely unnerving how often she caught the other Elf watching her in curiosity after that though, as if he were still trying to decide what to make of Nira. She could only take comfort in the fact that Solas seemed as uncertain of her as she was of him in return. There was just something about him that was magnetic, both calling her in closer even as it scared her. Her life as a Scout had not prepared her to handle the complexities of interconnected relationships and she silently fretted over the basic mistakes she had already made. If she ever wanted to feel like she had the upper hand with Solas, let alone within the Inquisition, then Nira needed to master these news skills and fast.

The Avvar were an absolutely marvelous, simple issue to take her frustrations out on. Amund had offered no resistance once Nira had closed the Rift, going on about the Lady of the Sky and then offering her actual useful information. She was not sure when she’d ever have to worry about the Avvar or their beliefs and customs, but Nira tucked away what pieces of knowledge the mammoth human offered. Standing next to The Iron Bull Amund still appeared large, though less monstrously so but standing next to Varric the man looked gargantuan. Thankfully the heavy warrior stayed behind without prompting. Nira was adjusting to the presence of her companions and actively ignoring the sounds they made as they travelled, but she was not used to having so many others around when she worked. They were distracting, each in their own way though some were decidedly worse than others. But as frustrating as he was, it was comforting to have Solas around as well. The Dread Wolf take him.

There were no distractions to detract from her focus as Nira confronted the Hand of Korth. He was large in the way that screamed of gluttonous living as well as a lifestyle that led to heavy strength, his muscles and girth rippling as he charged towards her. There was only the faintest of shifting weight to warn anyone as her rope spun through the air, the dart like blade at the end launching out through the Avvar’s eyeball into his skull with a heavy thunk. His own momentum pulled him forwards another few steps, though likely to those watching in stunned silence it looked like her little dart and rope pulled him closer as she snatched her weapon free from his corpse. Not a sound was uttered as the Hand of Korth collapsed to the floor, Nira spinning with the momentum of her weapon and quickly winding the rope to grab the dart at the end; slitting the corpse’s throat with her bracer knife as a precaution.

“Anyone else?” Nira quietly demanded, looking past the jubilantly grinning Bull towards the Avvar watching them. They offered her no answers and no defiance. “Where are my scouts?” she narrowed her eyes at the Avvar, letting her righteous anger show to reinforce their fear of her. She was tiny compared to them all, and it had taken her less time to fell their leader than it would have had she used magic or massive sword. Everyone always underestimated how dangerous small things could be but right now none watching her doubted she would go through them all to find those she’d come for.

The room where the scouts were locked up was pointed out without hesitation and Nira forced herself to stay still to receive the thanks and praise from the freed Inquisition scouts. Despite her Dalish Vallaslin, and the obvious mage staff she wasn't used to yet strapped to her back, these men and women gladly reached out to her, hands patting and touching her with a reverence Nira had never experienced. Knowing that her own companions were watching kept her steady and still; though thankfully Bull quickly rounded the hostages together and got them moving back towards safety and away from Nira.

\--

Solas was interested to learn that all the taunts and violence in the world would not be enough to break her nerve, but gentle affection appeared to work immediately. She froze under the attention the grateful scouts lavished her with and held still in the way of the fox before the wolf, waiting for her moment to flee. The Qunari watched the demonstrations as closely as he did, likely to pass on what news he could of Nira’s skills to his masters later.

He wondered briefly what the others thought of what they’d seen, not just Nira’s quiet lethality with the Hand of Korth but also her obvious discomfort with praise or physical contact. The Qunari likely interpreted some of her discomfort as that belonging to an Elf amongst humans, and there was a fair bit of that still in Nira’s interactions. But Solas was seeing more of her unguarded reactions now that he was looking for them, her absolute confidence as she eliminated the Hand of Korth was evidence that she had faced brute-force violence before. So the obvious conclusion was that she must not have experienced those gentle things that made her uncomfortable. 

It forced him to review the little anyone knew of this ' Herald of Andraste '. Whatever her proper name was, she refused to be addressed by it. In the Fade she was willful, stubborn and determined. He saw shades of that in the woken world in the grace she used while fighting and the ease with which she trusted her skills. And the fury she disguised so well snuck through in the most surprising of ways; her rage over the missing scouts had cowed even the notoriously aggressive Avvar and he saw how they regarded her after. But the moment Nira wasn't wielding her finely tuned abilities, Solas could tell she was at a loss. 

The thing that surprised him the most was the realization that Nira's magic was as untamed as she was. With the world choked by the Veil, locking the Fade away, the limited magic available to mages left the very act of spell work a task to be accomplished. Nira seemed to feel the magic she used instead of thinking about it, and Solas couldn't help the flare of jealousy that caused because before his attempt to fix the world, all magic had been that natural.

But when she'd reacted to his Veil Fire,  it had exposed some fascinating vulnerabilities despite her careful facade. She had not been taught a full account of what a mage could do with Spell Wisp; though the moment she'd seen it,  Nira had somehow intuitively figured out how to recreate it. Solas would be more obvious in his magical demonstrations then; even if she would not ask for help he would guide her, if only to keep her from being consumed by the Power she unwittingly stole. 

He hadn't felt her pull Power for the spell bloom she'd created, it had simply been  _there_ for him. The way she wore her magic most reminded him of the Arcane Warriors of old Elvhenan, though she was still far from their mastery. And there was something undeniably stirring to see the flash of green Power in her eyes and the red Vallaslin of her face looking so starkly primal as the blood of her enemies splattered across her cheek. 

"So is it true that Hero really made a move on you while you were hunting Warden artifacts along the Storm Coast?" Varric’s question forced Solas out of his ruminations and back onto the camp. 

They were back on the limited solid ground the Fallow Mire offered, their area safe within the perimeter of the Inquisition camp but still respectfully private. It still seemed an inappropriate location for such a personal question; Solas and Bull both still tried to discreetly determine her reaction. While such a question from Solas would have been met with hostility, or suspicious caution had it been Bull, now Nira merely looked fondly amused at Varric's prying.

"Warden Blackwall had mistaken my friendliness, curiosity, and respect for flirtation. It was not my intent." Nira shrugged as if the encounter had been no matter. 

"No interest in him, or no interest in non-Dalish?" Bull bluntly asked and Solas saw his guess had been right; Nira's fond amusement shifted to careful suspicion.

"The only person I've ever shared my body with has been in the name of Duty to my Clan Bull. Otherwise my being a half breed has been effective at keeping all interest at bay. I hadn't been considering a sexual encounter with the Warden, not because his humanity repelled me but my own has normally repelled others." Her careful explanation was emotionally detached but Solas felt a spark of anger at her admission. He saw discomfort on Varric's face but the Iron Bull merely looked contemplative as they interpreted her words. "But to be honest, no I'm not interested in Warden Blackwall; too much hair." She gave an amusingly disgusted shudder that made Qunari and Dwarf laugh. "Other shemlen I can admit to finding appealing, but it's not something I want to act on yet." 

Solas fought to keep the scowl off of his face. He'd seen Nira watching the Inquisition soldiers training, specifically the Commander. It wasn't difficult to figure out that the objectively handsome ex-Templar could have easily caught the da'fen's eye. He was attractive and polite, treating Nira with a deference that Solas suspected she had never known. It seemed the abused Scout that had very little kindness in her life and the Commander could be very appealing Solas suspected. He could let none of the unease he felt over this show where Nira could witness it though.

Instead he watched how Nira interacted with the others once back at Haven. She seemed to warily respect Leliana, was honestly fond of Josephine, and regarded Cullen with curiosity. He carefully watched Nira observe and emulate Enchanter Vivienne even as she adopted some of Cassandra's bluntness without completely eschewing her own humour. And in the Fade Fen'Harel eagerly tested her patience and boldness.

"Chuckles you gotta come see what your girlfriend is up to." Varric's tone drew him out of the tome on magic he was supposed to be reading. At Solas' attempt to look quizzical the Dwarf made his implication more plain. "Come off it Chuckles, Nira is a beautiful women and despite how bad ass she is, her low key excitement and curiosity only makes her more appealing. If I can admit that while largely only being attracted to Dwarven women you can at least not lie badly about it. Don't think I haven't seen how you look at her she she's not paying attention." 

Solas glared down at Varric, feeling the Veil coil around him as his anger unsettled the Fade. The Durgen'len was completely oblivious to the danger his offhand teasing had roused, and Solas forced calm back into his aura. When he'd last seen Nira, she'd been quietly crafting a new chain from some of Harritt's spelled silverite. Whatever she could have done to excite Varric so much deserved consideration so he decided to ignore Varric's asinine commentary entirely, it was the only dignified response. "What is the Herald of Andraste up to now?" He even managed to sound impatient. Varric's smug amusement as he led Solas to the training grounds in the growing twilight did nothing to settle Solas' unease. What had Nira gotten up to now?

Da'fen was dancing with Veil Fire.

Thats what it looked like at first. From the distance Solas could see Nira in the empty dirt circle, a small ball of Veil Fire spinning through the air around her like an agitated spell wisp. Closer they could see the glint of the silverite chain she must be testing out; leashing the Veil Fire to her movements. As she twisted the small chain around, shooting the Veil Fire about with the same ease she used to wield her dart, she was oblivious to the growing circle of witnesses; a captivated audience drawn by the strangeness of the scene she was putting on. It was dark enough in the evening that the light put off by the Veil Fire was all that illuminated her as she practiced, eyes slitted nearly closed as Nira seemingly let her body dictate its own choreography. The way the light slithered and danced across the curves of her muscles and gold of her skin was an almost sensual effect that left him entranced. Solas had never seen someone use Veil Fire as a weapon before, the sympathetic magic usually at best a source of illumination. It should have been impossible for her to do it, but no one had told Nira that.

The Iron Bull stepped into the training ring, just outside of the sweep of her Veil Fire. Nira reacted to him immediately, stance shifting as she carefully coiled the chain. It was noisier than her rope. Bull had the heavy axe he'd claimed from the Hand of Korth's corpse, its edge as sharp and deadly as ever. Solas had seen Bull cleave an armoured Venatori in two with it, and currently Nira was stripped down to trousers and a tight vest that left very little to the imagination about the contours of her body. She didn't hesitate to engage and Solas smiled, having expected as much after his own encounters with her in the Fade.

Even as Bull swung for the Herald, Nira dropped into a crouch and skittered forward in a quick tripodal rush that took her into Bull's guard. He kicked out at her, forcing Nira to abort the stab she made at his fermoral artery. The Veil Fire ball had been reformed into a glittering blade that seethed with Power. Solas found he couldn't tear his eyes off of the Veil Fire blade, astonished that her untrained instinct had managed such a feat. And she was utterly unaware of it!

Bull gained enough space to use his axe again as Nira somersaulted away only to then somehow twist through the air, her chain lashing out toward's Bull's face. Even though he expected the move, the Qunari's own attack left him out of position to defend himself. Unlike with the Avvar, this time Nira's strike didn't take out the eye; the Veil Fire flared brightly and Bull jerked back with a pained bellow. He struck out blindly with the flat of his axe, trying to defend himself against a fast opponent that was virtually silent, and Solas had to remind himself to breathe as Nira landed a suddenly harmless spell wisp against Bull's chest, right over his heart and then she swept his legs out from under him.

Solas couldn't help but feel proud of da'fen; she hadn't planned this little demonstration Bull had started but she had taken control of it immediately. Though he also remembered that this could have been a way for the spy to measure the Herald of Andraste so he could discover how to defeat her. Solas ached to have his Power back, only then could he be sure that even a Ben Hassrath spy couldn't interfere with his plans. 

"You didn't fight fair Boss." Bull complained as he carefully blinked his sight clear. 

"When did we set any rules?" Nira's response made Varric beside him laugh.

"She's got you there Tiny. Technically you interrupted her practice to attack her." The Dwarf's ease belied his serious words. No one was outright calling it the dominance match it truly had been.

Nira looked over at Varric's voice but froze when her gaze landed on Solas. Her eyes went wide with surprise when he smiled and bowed his head slightly in respect. And he couldn't help grinning when his simple acknowledgement brought a flush to her cheeks as she looked away. Cullen wasn't the only one that could be kind. And a part of him enjoyed seeing her flustered, likely it was a similar impulse that had her seeking his anger.

Bull seemed surprised when Nira turned back around and offered him a hand back up. Not that she had the physical leverage to haul his mass around; it was clearly a peacemaking gesture. The Qunari looked at her proffered hand, the one with the Mark in it Solas was amused to note, then up at Nira's carefully neutral face before taking her hand.

"You are both terrifying and hot as hell Boss." Bull remarked bluntly without releasing Nira's hand after standing and Solas saw him rub his thumb across her knuckles softly.

Varric was laughing at the Qunari's brazenness but Solas felt the sting of his nails biting into his palm as he held himself still. 

Nira's eyebrows jumped in obvious surprise and she smiled with a disbelieving laugh. "Just the thought of that makes me want to curl up; no thank you Bull. I'm too small and you're too...intimidating." Her deliberate word choice made Bull laugh, not at all seeming upset by the rejection.

Solas still felt the painful press of Fen'Harel under his skin, a form not possible on this side of the Veil. The da'fen was not for the Qunari to try and claim, and Fen'Harel would defend what he currently considered his curiosity to solve. Solas walked out into the dark and snowy forest around Haven, not trusting that his expression was entirely clear and needing to be away from the temptation to do something rash. His impulsiveness was the source of everyone's current troubles after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I believe Veilfire is similar to spell wisp, so in this verse is within Nira's established spell trees.  
> Translation:  
> Durgen'len = Child of Stone, Dwarf


	6. Palahnemah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between a rock and a hard place, Nira has to make wide reaching decisions.  
> The Inquisition will have to close the Breach but what path won't kill it's Herald?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ran out of time to edit this before I disappeared for the weekend. See if you can spot where my editing skills ended.... 
> 
> Enjoy and have a good weekend!

Of all the infuriating things Solas has had to endure or Fen’Harel had patiently survived, hunting Nira Lavellan in the Fade became one of the top three simply because she NEVER SLEPT. Solas understood that she lived the lifestyle of a Scout but as his own requirements in the Fade demanded that he spend more time there than the mere minutes da’fen seemed to allow herself, it left him very little time to find her and test her growing control over the stolen Power in her palm. And considering that he spent easily as much time within the Fade as outside of it, Solas found her lack of presence inherently aggravating. And yet the few moments he could observe or interact with her within the Fade were enticingly engaging. Even if she was barely trained, the moment Nira was exposed to a new magic she could do she picked it up and started to try and master it. It was sloppy and clumsy, and brilliant. Her magical control improved every single time he observed her, even if she seemed utterly unimpressed by her incremental advancements.

It did not help him feel any less frustrated with her though. He needed to understand the woman with his Power and yet getting to know the ‘Herald’ better did not for a moment let Solas feel like he actually understood her. Nor was it an easy or simple task. Nira’s trick with the trees in the Hinterlands had given him an embarrassing amount of puzzling until he realized that he was overcomplicating the situation. She hadn’t woken in her tent and somehow Stepped to the trees without him feeling the use of Power, or even rushed over to them before Solas could have exited his own tent. The first theory was disproven simply because when she did call on the Mark in her palm it was not subtle, and the second because there had been no time for Nira to have made the run to the trees without anyone seeing her. She was fast, but even a Scout can’t do the impossible. Once he sought a simple solution it occurred to him that Nira had to have already been up the trees before the wards were tripped.

Apparently da’fen preferred taking her repose in the trees outside of the Fade as well as within it. It was almost adorable, except it was a fact he only discovered back at Haven when the Herald was missing from where he expected her to be. Once again she'd avoided Fen’Harel in the Fade simply by refusing to give her body the rest it needed and Solas had finally decided to confront her about her need to be trained, only to find her gone. Felanenaste, the young Elf Solas had learned was the ‘unofficial attendant of the Herald’, told him that Nira had given her the bed for her own use and left with no further instructions.

Solas didn’t spare any concern about her fleeing the Inquisition entirely, even if the incident with the Scouts had left her unsettled. Nira might have no love for anyone or anything here but neither did she seem to have an overt desire to return to her Clan. He didn’t even have to depend on the strange bond that always pulled in her direction to know that she was not far. It did amuse him that there was not a single footprint giving away the direction of her escape though.

This was not the plan he had originally crafted for the quiet night. He had been meditating lightly, dipping his metaphorical toes into the waters of the Fade, but some deeper gut feeling warned that there was no use in wearing Fen’Harel’s shape. Their quarry was not there, and now she was not here either. But if he had learned anything it was that trying to predict her like a mage was a mistake; Nira Lavellan was a Scout.

There was too much living noise between them with Solas still in Haven, and no chance to follow her trail besides. With an irritated huff he passed through the gates and out into the growing armed camp surrounding the small Chantry town. To his eyes it was an old settlement, as had been the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but to his mind even the mountains they huddled into were still young. The woods were sanctuary compared to it; trees were living things that grew and changed shape, their agelessness guaranteed by the cycle of life.

Power surged through the trees and Solas was off in as silent a run as he could in the physical world. Magic coiled down the length of his staff, the bitter cold of his spell radiating out into the air around the ironwood and feeding off the winter chill gripping the land as he prepared to face whatever was attacking his da’fen. His sharp hearing detected no sounds of struggle despite the Power still piercing his attention like steam escaping a kettle, and his focus on the magic in the air nearly led him into the defensive trap Nira had set.

A ward erupted to life, flaring up and over him a heartbeat after his barrier sealed him away from the danger. Solas all but dropped to his knees anyways, surprised at the overlapping magic she used to trap the unwary. Apparently having learned from the failure of the wards in the Fade, Nira had decided that combining abilities was the best way to fill in gaps of her defence. The glyph of paralysis left him basically immobilized while her anti magic ward slowly ate through the layers of his barrier, and either she was utterly unaware of the Entropy spells she could use, or had always instinctively incorporated them into other spells because he could feel a thread of Life Drain worked into the protective trap as well.

It was the kind of snare one might use in the Fade to try and surprise a determined Wolf.

Solas focused inwards, pulling past the Veil for power. As when Varric had roused his anger the Fade coiled around him like an eager pet demanding affection, only this time Solas did not push calm into his aura. Da’fen would no doubt already be on her way to check what prey had tripped her snare, and Solas did not plan to be found by her while still defenseless. There would be no chance of her accepting his tutelage then.

She had caught him, and so he would let her think that she could contain him. Solas wiped the smile off of his face and tried to look confident despite the paralysis glyph that had left him with very little room to move as it slithered over his diminishing barrier. The magic he had called still coiled and curled around him, invisible to the naked eye and thanks to her own wards, not a factor she would know to be prepared for. As long as he could hold barrier until she arrived, Solas would come out of this encounter as the winner.

In the middle of the woods, at night, far off the trail where anyone would look for him, and bound within his own barrier to avoid the pain of her wards, and Solas settled into a light meditative state. It must have been quite the tableau for the da’fen to come across when she finally approached. The chill air kept his strain from showing, no sweat beaded on his scalp when Nira Lavellan carefully crept within view; though Solas was beginning to fret about his barrier and her still functioning ward chewing its way towards him in an inexorable march. A part of him wondered if she was aware of that or if her timing was just a beautiful coincidence.

“Interesting prey my snare caught. And I thought it would be one of Cullen’s Templars that would follow me.” Nira crouched to bring herself to his level, her head tilted to the side as she considered him.

Solas had to fight a snarl as his barrier flickered, the last layer being consumed while she studied how he held it off. “Nira, I am not your enemy.” He tried to sound bored by the whole series of events, wondering if he would have to show a little of his own hand just to escape this ward before it could actually hurt him.

“No, you’re not. I still don’t know the face of my enemy. But I will.” He saw her reach for the ward and knew his moment to act was finally at hand.

As the ward fell away Solas snatched out, surprising them both with how fast his swipe was as he caught her wrist in his fingers. He let his barrier collapse, the resulting Mana Surge striking out at Nira as the source of the attack and he added to the surprise with a rough jerk of her wrist towards him.

The tricky little Scout didn’t know how to defend against both a magical and physical attack at once; not many could. He could feel his stolen Power crackle as his magical attack collided into it and washed over it without sinking in to do real damage. As her wards had recognized his connection to the Power, so too did his own magic now recognize her. They would be able to do very little actual damage to each other with their magic; but only Solas knew to anticipate that.

The Herald was only lightly stunned; it was just enough to let him pull her forwards and off balance, the younger mage all but falling onto his lap as he brought her face close and lightly pressed his rather tiny belt knife against her sternum. She froze still, feeling the sharp point press in without drawing blood. He knew exactly how much pressure was needed, even if the blade was not his choice of weapon.

“Captured prey can still have teeth.” He enjoyed taunting her, the lesson now repayment for that little prick to his paw on their first Fade meeting.

Her surprised eyes turned considering and then calculating but she said nothing. Merely let him keep them locked in the position he held control of. And then she called Veil Fire and let it burn across her skin to lick at his, hoping to chase him off with the mere memory of flame. He would let it burn them both before conceding to her now; his pride wouldn’t allow capitulation.

She broke his nose.

The tip of his simple blade likely pierced the skin of her chest for the effort as she threw her fist into his face. Pain blinded him for a moment, the hot sticky wash of blood dribbling following even as he released her wrist and Stepped himself away. He didn’t want to go far, just needed to put enough space between them to react to her before she could get to him, even with her dangerous little dart.

Ice armour crept up his skin, transparent and flexible despite the substance, bound to his will and protecting him as he felt her Step as well. Not as brutally loud to the Sense as her first attempt had been, though still astonishingly sloppy. She left so much residual Fade energy behind her that he could follow the trail like footsteps in the snow. But he didn’t follow his advantage.

“I came to try and talk you into allowing me to show you the magic I know, da’fen.” Solas called out, ignoring the enticement to play he could feel echoing out from where Fen’Harel slept. Now was not the time and this was not the place. Too many could still witness what should be a private matter between student and teacher.

She did not call back, likely using his voice as a target to locate him. Peaceful Aura had failed the moment he’d used the belt knife, unable to persist once blood had been spilled. So instead he readied Mind Blast and waited for Nira to come after him again. The best Hunters learned when to be patient after all.

It did not take long, but it was only when he felt the spell wisp flittering overhead that he realized she was having as much fun with this as he was. Nira dropped down onto him from the trees, having used her Step, the time between, or even her dart rope to quickly scale upwards and out of his line of sight. And of course Solas had gotten accustomed to not fearing an attack from above.

Her weight crashed down into him even as he unleashed Mind Blast and then they were both lying in the slowly melting snow, panting for breath or groaning softly in pain. Solas was not sure which noise belonged to what body, his head rattled from being crashed into by a tiny but solid Scout.

This encounter was definitely a tie.

A part of him still considered it a win when Nira started to laugh softly from where she had sprawled, and she likely thought the same when Solas joined her.

\---

Nira had access to three Advisors, all human, but as different as possible to be. The Commander was a man driven by guilt; the stain of desperation coloured everything he did. But for a man with an army he had little love for wanton violence which was a refreshing discovery. Both the Ambassador and the Spymaster were ruthless; though the Nightingale would simply kill where the Antivan’s diplomacy could be much crueler.

Unsurprisingly, the ex-Templar was adamant that they approach the Templars for help. He knew their capabilities and was certain they would be able to shut the Breach down. But Nira had very little tolerance for the strong arm of the Chantry. Alienage flat ears had to fear everything, and the Dalish liked to pretend that they feared nothing at all, but the fact that even ordinary shemlen feared the Templars was a bad sign. When the absolute Privileged feared the supposed protectors something was terribly wrong. But Leliana’s insistence on going to the mages had its own complications. No one was actually certain that pouring more power into the Breach would seal it shut again. Even the supposedly vast Fade knowledge Solas had couldn’t confirm what would actually happen.

And of course Nira had told no one that the mark on her palm hurt, the pain of it never actually fading away from her conscious thought. Nira had experience with so many different kinds of pain, and the palm of her hand held aspects of all the pain she had ever endured. The blistering, cracking pressure of a burn, the sweet slice of blade through flesh, and the hard crackle of bones giving way all wove together and settled into her hand, radiating up her arm a little more each time she used it.

She'd read the notes left after she was first afflicted with the mark; the Inquisition could do nothing to help. This was unknown magic to everyone, not just herself, and so Nira simply endured. And when the Vallaslin on her left hand and arm started to slow lose their vibrant redness to be replaced with verdant green, Nira merely settled on wearing the thinnest of leather gloves and long sleeved shirts to hide her evolving disfigurement.

On the inside her magic felt chaotic and wild, matching the unwanted and unstoppable changes that were happening to her on the outside. She simmered with Power that wasn’t her own but no longer felt strange either. Channeling even more Power through her mark very well might kill her; Vir Adahlen once again, only more along the original lines Nira had once believed it stood for. That would at least make her Mae happy; the world would hold the Lavellan Clan as heroic and Nira would be gone. But she didn’t want to just die; she’d done everything in her relatively short life to survive. Had endured pain and Duty and refused to be broken by it.

“We will seek the mages.” Nira finally announced into the Advisor’s continuing argument.

“Lady Herald,” her Commander started to argue but he chose the wrong tactic.

“Scout, Nira or Lavellan; pick one and use it. I’m not a Lady and I don’t believe in Andraste so I am not her Herald.” She interrupted to his evident surprise.

“My apologies He—Nira.” He at least took the chastisement graciously.

“Commander, we will approach the mages. I understand you know the abilities of your once brethren but I am Dalish and a mage. I cannot empower an armed force that has reacted to inevitable rebellion with gross violence.” She knew this honesty would cost her a level of esteem in her Commander’s eyes but Nira was not going to be a pawn to the Chantry. “Once the Breach is sealed you can approach the Templars and end this war.” She didn’t say out loud that the moment she wasn’t necessary after sealing the Breach she was gone from the Inquisition faster than a bird on the wing.

And despite Nira’s expectations, he nodded without argument. He might not call her Herald to her face but she could tell he still held her as holy. Unfortunate but at least she could work with that.

Dorian invited himself into the counsel, which somehow resulted in them forming a plan. If she could have more interruptions like that as opposed to having Qunari try and prove a point during training the world might just not end before Nira could go exploring. Then again since this plan depended on Nira walking into an ambush and acting like a distraction, that might be her being prematurely optimistic. As she tried to not die and keep Alexius’ attention, Leliana’s people would take Redcliffe castle through a secret entrance in the bowels of the castle and then they could subdue the Magister. Nira had to wonder why everyone kept calling it a secret entrance if they all knew about it but kept her question to herself.

The disadvantage for going into an ambush with a team at her back for the first time was Nira having to deal with the opinions of those on her team about the plan and their chances. Solas hadn’t said anything overt but his displeasure at being left behind was thick enough it counted as a stench and Nira wasn’t sure if it was his ego that was hurt of if he honestly worried for her safety without his presence to ensure it. Their late night confrontation in the snow left her with more questions than she knew to ask but with herself and Dorian already slated to go, there was no room for a third mage. Grand Enchanter Fiona had been a Warden at one point in her life so Nira suggested bringing Blackwall as her warrior. The Warden was earnest and awkward about the selection, not able to look her in the eyes as he accepted her decision to approach the mages with him at her back. Thankfully the shemlen seemed to be otherwise comfortable with her even after she had turned down his romantic overtures; now Nira could be amused by how subtle the Warden had been compared to Bull’s direct approach. But she had already allowed one man into her bed in the name of Duty; the next one would be there because she wanted him not because she felt obligated. She did not want either Warden or Qunari.

That left her with either Varric or Sera to fill out the rest of her team if she wanted it to be balanced. The Dwarf’s aggressive friendliness was exhausting but the flat ear’s antagonistic humour could be worse. On a mission to rescue mages though, Nira would bring the crossbow bearing Rogue; if only to avoid listening to Sera’s mage hatred there, during, and back again.

Almost despite herself, Nira greatly enjoyed Dorian’s presence. He was just so… impractical. Like the gossamer wings of a butterfly dancing across motes of early morning sunlight; he didn’t seem entirely real. Lady Vivienne dressed in stately white, playing the stark contrast to her advantage but she wore very little in the way of adornments. Dorian was his own accessory; he looked so polished Nira sniffed at him to see if she could smell the oils that had to be worked into him. He even smelled good, no trace of sweat or effort lingering on him regardless of the location they were at. Nira knew she reeked of horse; the strange gait of the animal only becoming familiar after repeated, discomforting use.

More than his extravagance, Nira lived for the stories he told. Of the sounds the seas would make during the heaviest storms, growling against the fortifications like a raging water dragon, of decadent parties where the air was so heavy with incense that it was like being in a fog, the men and women splendid in draped fabrics and glimmering with jewels. Of wines so rich it could be spread on toast and music so beautiful one would weep. She didn’t believe any of it, but it was satisfying to listen to him talk and try to picture what he described. And he never seemed perturbed by her silence.

The ride to Redcliffe Castle felt astonishingly quick in the company of both Dorian and Varric, the pair eager to outdo each other for outrageous stories involving noble parties. With the Warden even more terse than she, Nira wondered if Dorian would be willing to join her team after this; if they could work together under pressure he would be an asset to her duties.

Nira hated to admit to herself when she walked into Redcliffe with only two people at her back that she felt exposed. She was becoming accustomed to having others to assist and that would only make her sloppy. A Scout could count on no one and nothing but themselves. Something she’d have to worry about later as Warden Blackwall and Varric stilled behind her. Alexius had several guards or flunkies waiting for them; it was hard to tell with their silly hoods, for a people that enslaved Elves they certainly liked to wear Elf ear shapes on their headdresses.

Someone not dressed like an idiot approached, the Chamberlain or whatever it was his title had been. “Announce us.” She instructed, needing to get Alexius distracted quickly.

“Magister Alexius’ invitation was for Herald Lavellan alone. The rest will wait here.” The shemlen sneered at her.

“Where I go, they go.” Nira insisted and stared him down until he acquiesced, a skill she would have to thank Lady de Fer for teaching her. Nira could glare down wild animals from a young age, people were much harder.

The armour Harritt had made for her was spectacular, carefully moulded to the shape of her body and allowing for the flexibility required of her fighting style. It was also carefully spelled by someone more capable than herself to help resist all damage.; it still did little in the way of helping her feel less trapped within the labyrinthine Redcliffe Castle. What was it with shemlen needing so many walls?

Footsteps behind warned that the funny dressed guards were close behind, but thankfully Blackwall and Varric were a buffer between them. The Magister was sitting on an actual throne in front of the fire and Nira had to swallow a laugh as they were brought forward. She’d finally found someone with a bigger ego than Solas, and he wasn’t even here for her to point that fact out to.

Why did everyone talk so much? At least Dorian and Varric made their blathering entertaining. And of course the Tevinter lived up to the bad stereotypes Dorian had been bemoaning about the ride in. So to annoy the shem, Nira suggested that they include the Grand Enchanter, even if Nira thought the woman was a bit of an idiot. She could understand sacrificing yourself into slavery to save your people, but Fiona had signed up all the mages for the same fate. Nira understood Duty, but what did Fiona think they were going to get out of this?

Alexius continued his posturing and chatter, demanding to know what the Inquisition was prepared to offer him for the help of the mages. Everyone in the room knew that this was all lies and maneuvering, but no one was letting the other side know that they knew. Nira just wanted to tell the man that the only thing he could ever get out of her was a pile of steaming Bogfisher shit but she wasn’t sure that Dorian had gotten Leliana’s people into position yet. She had to play nice still. She was a Scout not an Ambassador, though trying to think like her Antivan Advisor was a start. Alexius was a pretentious tit so playing to his power hunger could work. It turned out to be ultimately unnecessary because the man’s own son spoiled the whole secret aspect of their counter ambush.

She’d been called much worse things than a mistake. Hearing a shemlen accuse her of stealing the Power that had wormed its way into her own and changed her was aggravating, as if Nira would have wanted this kind of agony. Nira let the shemlen ramble on, not sure if the sound she caught was Leliana’s little birds finally taking their places. When Dorian strutted in, Nira knew she could drop the charade of appeasement. And even as she readied for a fight, the shemlen kept TALKING.

Right up until Alexius pulled out an amulet. Even inert Nira wanted to throw up from the wrongness twisting around inside it, and when the Magister poured power into it, Dorian deflected and Nira felt the inside of her stomach coat the roof of her mouth when something settled into her gut and pulled.

The Vallaslin under her skin thrummed with pain, as if the blood writing was trying to tear free. Deep inside her chest something twisted and stretched, pulling impossibly far away to something she didn’t even realize she’d been connected to. Her blood was acid in her veins, liquid agony pulsing through her body with every heartbeat; every breath was a struggle of willpower. The water sloshing around her feet and shins offered no soothing comfort, the heat burning through her veins not a physical ailment to be soothed.

And before she could take the time to recover her watering eyes picked out two Venatori guards waiting for them. Although she was etched with Mythal’s markings, in that moment Nira was more aligned to Elgar’nan with the vengeance she wreaked; a trained Scout and a very well trained mage catching two guards by surprise made for quick, bloody work.

Her own mage senses were too scrambled to be useful, not that they ever really were practical, but Dorian seemed to recover more quickly. Either he had more experience with spells going wrong or he had a natural affinity to them because the pretty Tevinter seemed awfully excited by the entire experience thus far. At least that was how it seemed with how enthusiastic he was about temporal rifting. He did eventually explain to Nira that that were still at Redcliffe Castle, just at a slightly different time and place than Nira wanted them to be, though he gleefully admitted to having no clue how to return them back yet. Her sullen malcontent started to settle when her pain levels tapered off to something she could ignore again.

She wasn’t sure she actually believed the Tevinter about what had happened, but with no better explanation at hand, Nira was still stuck acting as if it were the truth. She was prepared to follow simple rules to get through this latest impossibility; endure, adapt, survive, figure it out as she goes. Unfortunately for Nira the only way back to the right time, place, and people was following a Necromancer that seemed to view the entire sequence of events as some kind of game to play. With nothing better to do, and literally the only thing left to lose was her pulse, Nira went exploring with a Tevinter Altus in a Castle full of Venatori.

It stopped being fun when they found Varric.

There was something wrong, her magical senses resonating with the sickness coursing through him. His eyes and aura glowed red and his mellifluous had a toxic edge. And somehow it was the fact that Varric still tried to act like he had just that morning/ a year ago that broke Nira’s heart. No one was allowed to hurt her people. It was an absolute pleasure to return Bianca to him, though it was still cold comfort. They’d broken his hands sometime in the past, knuckles thick and crooked but still at home on the trigger. She swallowed bile and looked away.

Learning about the Elder One, a demon army, and an assassination in Orlais helped Nira to refocus on what the task at hand was. Survive right now, find a way back; prevent this future. And kill whatever the fuck broke her Warden.

Nira started to slowly coil her rope dart through her hands, over and over. Every touch and stroke of her fingers sank more of her anger fuelled mana into her weapon. She had no focus for the power yet, just an ever growing need to find an outlet to use it on before she erupted. Her hands stilled only temporarily when they found Fiona. In return for answers Nira could only offer the woman the dignity of a merciful death; signalling Varric to end it.

“I’ve never fought a god in the waking world before, should be memorable.” Her voice sounded funny, high and tight compared to her usual flat tones. And Dorian finally had a possible plan to get them out of there; they just had to rescue Leliana first.

To say that the Nightingale was not well would be a severe understatement for just how much torture that woman had evidently endured. Whatever softness she might have had when Nira saw her last had been carved away and now the Nightingale was lethality in human form. The moment she saw Nira, Leliana rescued herself; as if all she had needed was that glimmer of hope. She had been an intense woman before; beautiful, deadly, and mysterious, but now she was severe in a way that inspired and terrified Nira. And for some reason Leliana absolutely dedicated herself to getting Nira and Dorian back to the time Before. Nira hadn’t realized that the Nightingale had believed in the Herald that greatly.

Facing down Alexius finally gave Nira someone to unleash her rage on. He had cast the entire world into torture and pain for the sake of saving a son that had died long ago. Her people had been brutalized and butchered and Alexius continued to beg for understanding and his son. Her rope dart actually glowed in the visible spectrum, a clean, bright green that kept the sickly red at bay. The power stored inside rushed out as the dart connected into Alexius’ shoulder and unleashed in a mana clash that physically threw them both like rag dolls.

The Warden tore him apart fairly quickly after that, all still without uttering a word.

But even finding the exact amulet that had brought them here did not mean that the danger was over. Dorian needed an hour; they had less than a minute before something monstrous came for them.

They were going to die for her. Funny Varric with his smile that had literally faced the end of the world. Warden Blackwall, his grave silence testament to his endurance as he said farewell only with a solemn kiss to her cheek. Once bright and bitter Leliana, who fought to the end to find hope and death. Dorian pulled them back through time a moment after Nira’s resolve broke and tears dripped down her cheeks.

Nira left them staining her cheeks as she confronted Alexius again. He was as broken now as he was then, would have been then. And just as Nira thought that the ordeal was over, Queen Anora arrived with her Prince Consort and a lot of heavily armed shemlen.

She ended up bringing the mages back to Haven with her as allies, a position Nira would not budge on despite knowing it would run counter to what a lot of her companions would counsel. Whether or not pouring more Power through her palm and into the Breach would kill her, Nira knew she had to seal it. Her Duty was clear; Vir Tanadhal. Strike straight and true at her target without hesitation, bend with the weight of responsibility but do not break beneath it, and respect the sacrifice of one life for others knowing that in return the cycle of life continues.

It was a long, quiet ride back to Haven and Nira was grateful Dorian kept the others at bay. The Inquisition considered her a Herald of Andraste. The Mages considered her their salvation and leader. Nira had considered herself a simple Scout that could incidentally use magic. But now she wasn’t sure of anything anymore except that if she woke up the day after closing the Breach she’d be very surprised indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Felanenaste- Arbor Blessing; used as a Name.


	7. Sou'nin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas witnesses another wield his Power and makes peace with the fact. But all is not well in the world, and the Elder One comes for Nira.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game typical gore in this chapter folks.

He had felt something terribly wrong with the bond that stretched between himself and Nira, some outside force trying to shear it away. Solas had been outside his small hut when the attack struck, and he staggered inside to collapse in privacy. He could not stand to have others see him so vulnerable, so exposed. The Void take whoever tried to find him now though, his most lethal wards had crackled to life. Inside his skull Fen’Harel howled rage, but he had no concept for how long it lasted.

The pain eased. A slow release of torturously cramped muscles, small gasps of air being brought back in as shudders quaked down his spine and the pain slowly abated.

Solas could taste blood from where he’d bitten through his lip to silence his agony; fingers had clenched so tightly to fists that his palms dripped from crimson crescents, nails gory. His mind felt blasted by hot sand, barren and lifeless as the Void. Nira was alive; the bond between them raw but no longer under attack. Whatever news the Herald would bring, it had left its mark on them both.

The wait for her to return hurt nearly as much, Fen’Harel pacing the bounds of his patience and control. Ravens had flown in; all the mages were then grilled about time magic or temporal rifts. News spread that Nira had taken the mages as allies and Solas had to admire her willingness to flout the wants of the Inquisition that called her its Herald. The others would scold, Cullen did so loudly and she hadn’t returned yet; but Solas had known that it was going to be her decision because the only other option for the mages was conscription. Da’fen had too much Wildness in her to ever tolerate slavery and entrapment.

He was not prepared to see the lingering traces of haunted horror lurking under her stoicism. It left him desperate to know what had happened to her, and how she had survived. Even the flamboyant Tevinter seemed watered down compared to the energy he’d exuded initially. Though neither Varric nor Blackwall seemed the worse for wear, so whatever had happened clearly hadn’t affected them. And to the evident surprise of the Advisors, Nira refused to simply brief them of what happened the moment they demanded it of her. She had simply spat out that she would give answers on the morning and actually locked herself into her normally unused hut.

So Solas let Nira silently stew in the waking world, standing back patiently because he could wait for answers on the dawn. Or seek them out in the Fade once the Herald fell asleep; he would see what damage had been done more clearly there anyways. That was if she allowed herself to sleep and recover.

But with whatever had happened still echoing across the bond, Solas felt it the moment Nira dropped into the Fade. He roused his more irritable self and went stalking for her there.

She was waiting for Fen’Harel.

There were no elusive woods to play in, no sticking mud to slow him down as they continued the game between her curiosity and defiance, and his amusement and ire. He stepped towards where he felt her openly waiting and found Nira Lavellan ready to face the Dread Wolf. Despair and Doubt fluttered around her, swirling on the miasma of her emotions; so carefully guarded but still giving her away. His form was magnificent but not comforting though she did not tremble as he approached.

“Are you the Elder One? Is that why you’re always chasing me?” her anger erupted out at him, driving her to glare up at him though he could break her in half with his jaws alone. “I don’t want this! I don’t want to be who they choose to die for!” she screamed at him, her agitation feeding into the Fade and he let out a deep warning rumble as his absent Power called out to him. “The Void take you Fen’Harel, I want to live!” she pulled a Veil Fire blade into existence and it reeked of Need.

Da’fen had used little blades to stab him before, the wound inconsequential but he’d never been one to enjoy perforation. His warning rumble deepened into a legitimate growl, fangs no doubt flashing in the Fade light.

“They died for me! Because of this! My own mother won’t ever look on me with love and these shemlen, the Dwarf, they died for me. And I could do nothing to save them!” he could smell the tears sliding down her cheeks, one set of eyes seeing the glowing trails of sorrow.

“Take it back.” Nira didn’t scream her demand this time, her voice lacking the passion that had always let her defy him before. “Please, just take it back.” And she held her arm aloft as if expecting him to simply snap her arm off at the elbow and run with the Power.

He would never know for sure if that’s what he would have done if it would have worked, but the Power the Orb had given to Nira was still beyond his ability to reclaim.

When he didn’t do as she expected, Nira let her arm fall; shoulder slumped with defeat. “I don’t want this.” Her words were softly whispered to him from Sorrow, Despair, Doubt.

And she dug the Veil Fire blade into her marked palm, seeming to be determined to rip it out of her hand herself then. His massive form could easily crush and kill her, it could not offer assistance or comfort and in the moment he had to protect both the Power and Nira. Spirits chattered and swirled around them, drawn to her emotions and flailing power but held back by his presence alone. They would chance it if she continued to be such a tempting lure, and he would have to waste time and energy to hold them at bay from da’fen.

He felt his fur recede and his size shrink down, vision fading and limiting itself to two eyes only. He jaw ached, unused to so few teeth and such small muscles, and his familiar face was hidden behind a wolf head hood he had not worn in the waking world in Eons. No time was wasted between forms, the need to be one or the other enough to cause the immediate change and he easily gripped Nira’s wrists to keep the blade away from the Power she was trying to dig out.

“Lethallan.” He chided and she stared upwards at him, looking absolutely devastated to hear the Dread Wolf call her kin.

“Where were you when the world ended? Where were any of the gods?” Nira didn’t yell in his face now or even pull free from his grasp. “Why is it left to us? To me? I’m just a Scout.” Despair was threaded through her tone now but he could not give her the answers she needed. Could not tell her that he wasn’t a god and that none of them had ever been; her People were less than a fragment of what they once were.

“You are so much more.” He tried to encourage, voice still holding the basso resonance of his grander form as he released her wrists and lifted her chin upwards with one freed hand.

And he saw the anger spark back into her eyes. “No. I am not more. Not because of this.” Now she jerked away from his harmless touches. “Not because of you.” He smirked; satisfied that the hood shielded his face enough to hide the expression as she broke the small hold Despair had formed on her heart. “I am Nira Lavellan and I will face down this Elder One even you are too cowardly to face. And when I am done even the Dread Wolf in the Fade will tremble.” And she tore herself out of the Fade entirely.

When she finally told the story of what happened in Redcliffe, Nira’s voice remained steady; nothing of her turmoil in the Fade leaked through. She’d pulled all the ‘Companions’ and Advisors in to the Chantry, barred everyone else out, and told them what she and Dorian had witnessed. No wonder it had hurt when their connection had twisted to accommodate the change. And Solas’ vagrant Power within her has absorbed the worst of the damage for her; a week later and Solas still reacted poorly to overly bright lights.

The Court Enchanter started to discuss the inevitable steps Nira was going to have to take to help safeguard the Orlesian Court even before the Herald had concluded her tale; Nira silenced her with a flat stare. Likewise when her tale about accepting the mages as allies ended, Cullen went off on his expected fulmination. Solas couldn’t help a smirk as he saw whatever infatuation Nira might have had because of Cullen’s deference and looks shrivel up and die at his scolding tone.

“Really? The Veil is torn open? You know Cullen, as a mage that seems to have a piece of the Fade stuffed into her hand; I never would have figured that out on my own. Thank you for informing me.” Nira’s voice was hard in a way Solas hadn’t expected her to be capable of. A darker part of him wondered whom she had learned it from and if that person knew that one day Fen’Harel would find them. “Cullen I have faced the god of my People that my People most fear. I will not falter. And if I am the Herald of your Andraste you need to remember that I am a Dalish born mage. If I have to stand as the example for others to follow I will, but I will not do it in the way of your Circles; where mage born are not allowed to be married or keep their children. Even the slaves in Tevinter can be freer. I will not return any people to that, you best not ask me to.”

Solas’ knuckles were white with how tight his grip was; pride at her opposition surging through his veins but only expressed with a mild smile. Fen’Harel shifted around, aware and grinning dangerously but held back. He always did enjoy a rebellious demonstration.

With the Commander demurred, the discussion moved on to who Nira was going to take with her back up the mountain. It was time Solas made his maneuvers to ensure he wasn’t left behind this time. He may only get the one opportunity to reclaim his errant Power.

“Herald, I would like to accompany you back to the Temple. I would see what we started concluded.” He didn’t directly reference their long ago conversation about him likely leaving after the Breach was sealed but the flash of hesitation on her face warned that she recalled it too. The implication of him leaving even sooner, without a farewell, would hopefully be enough to convince her to bring him along. For a solitary Scout Nira seemed to have a penchant of considering people hers.

“Accepted.” Nira agreed and Solas kept his satisfaction covert.

“Then I guess I’m going with you too little wolf.” Varric spoke up quickly, “After a speech like that I’d look like a nughumper if I didn’t come too.”

Normally Nira would look amused at the Dwarf’s teasing and jokes, she’d even adjusted to being called little wolf. But there was sorrow on the edges of her carefully guarded expression even as she accepted the Durgen’len too.

 “Ugh,” Cassandra rolled her eyes and that did get a slight smile from Nira. “I will be coming as well. If for no other reason than to keep an eye on this one.” She indicated the Dwarf.

“You faced the first Rift together,” Leliana’s accent shaped the story she wove, “you stopped the Breach from growing together, and now you shall seal it together. It’s quiet poetic.”

“And while you’re kicking ass up the mountain what do you want us to do Boss?” Iron Bull demanded, clearly unhappy to be left behind again.

“Stay on guard,” Nira replied seriously, her agitation a constant low key hum to her aura. “The Elder One we learned of is already on the move somewhere, and we know nothing about it outside the fact that it considers itself a god.”

“You think it could be coming here?” The Commander was back to business.

“I did just claim the mages, and according to Alexius I’m already considered a thief for having this.” Nira lifted her glove concealed hand. Solas didn’t recall when she’d started to wear them, it was cold after all, but he realized that he hadn’t seen her without them outside of the Fade since. A consideration for another time, they were on the move.

Once again Solas climbed the path upwards, feeling the sickening lurch of the torn Veil growing stronger with every step. Conversely to before, this time Nira would bear the greater pain; her marked palm resonating with Power in time to the pulses still echoing from the Fade. He’d forgotten she would endure pain; none was ever revealed on her face.

“Focus past the Herald; let her Will draw from yours.” Solas called out to the collected mages, enjoying the now strange sensation of having so much magic saturating the air around him. He wished now that they had had more time for him to teach Nira, but she had only just accepted his tutelage before absconding to Redcliffe with the Tevinter Altus, she was barely anymore ready for this moment than she had been first surviving the Orb. Solas was just going to have to trust to Nira Lavellan’s ability to endure.

Nira stood facing the Breach, her back to the collected Inquisition. She wore the mage staff they’d given to her but Solas had never actually seen her use it as a foci; once they’d used it as a tent pole during a deluge, but even now Nira left it strapped to her back. The mages before him all fed their collective mana, Will and Power, into a pool for Nira to channel through her Focus to seal the Breach.

He saw her peel the glove off, bare hand lifted to the Breach, but with the backlight he could see nothing more than her silhouette. He need not see the actions to know when Nira tapped into the power the mages had raised for her; it jolted through him like an arrow being shot at close range. Solas layered Barrier onto Nira the moment he realized she had left herself utterly exposed to the Wild magic she was channeling. And then she twined her own Power into it and burned right through the Barrier like flame did to spider webs.

The explosion as Nira’s Will was made manifest to seal the Breach tossed everyone from their feet. Solas was experiencing far too much of that lately, a fact he bemoaned even as he forced himself into motion. A weak pulse throbbed across his bond and Solas found his focus drawn to where Nira crouched on the ground. She looked braced for an attack that she clearly did not have the energy to defend herself from, the snow in a wide circle around her utterly melted away while the charred stones steamed. He wanted to run to her side, protect and defend her from anything that would dare try for her in a moment of vulnerability, but Cassandra was closer and reached her first.

“You did it!” The Seeker exclaimed, and the mages and soldiers around him cheered, but Solas continued to feel uneasy.

Not only did his missing Power not give him a chance to reclaim it, Nira was now so completely tapped out of mana that he wondered how she still stood. And he hadn’t even thought to try and intercept it once the Breach was sealed, what came back to her was still so undeniably combined with her own magical aura. She may not have wanted the Power, had in fact inadvertently tried to give it back to him, but it had chosen her twice now. Solas may just have to take the Herald with him when the time came if this kept up.

They could hear Haven celebrating even as they approached. Cassandra led on point but people flocked to the gates to see their ‘Herald of Andraste’ return victorious. He wanted to steal her away from their gawking stares and reaching hands. Neither aspect of his mind liked how close to the edge da’fen felt to him. She’d had next to no time to process the events of Recliffe before being thrown at the Breach with the mages in a last ditch attempt to save the world, and now there was a full force celebration grasping after her; Solas suspected that Nira might not be able to endure all of what she had and their clinging adoration as well.

She seemed to make her own assessment, seeing the crowds pressing towards her and only held back by the careful guardianship of the Companions left behind. Solas at the rear of the group could only watch as Nira went wide eyed at the civilians reaching out to her before turning to The Iron Bull. “Get me out of here.” She called out to him and Solas snarled as the Qunari picked her up easily, holding her in his arms before his quick movements and mass forced people out of his way.

He had to make promises to the darkest parts of himself to settle again; pure hatred a sulphuric burn on his tongue for Bull’s daring to put hands on his da’fen. But patience and control once again won out, and Solas had to satisfy himself with merely waiting to approach the Herald once she had taken time to recover. With the Power still contained in Nira’s palm Solas needed to remain; even though the Breach was now closed he would have to find a way to have her ask him to stay.

Instead the alarms rang out.

They found each other at the gate. Neither one seemed to have deliberately followed the pull of the bond between them, Solas was still certain Nira was unaware of it consciously, but they searched each other out first nonetheless. Her face was wan and she still had next to no mana, and yet Nira looked prepared to take on the world. Solas was grimly satisfied that if this was where his failures had brought him, he would gladly stand at Nira’s back while she rectified his errors. He did not relish the consequences that would come eventually, but he would not cower before them either.

An army without a banner approached them and suddenly the sweet song of Compassion was at the door, asking to be let in. He called himself Cole and stared so curiously at Nira that Solas felt only empathy for the spirit. She truly looked like nothing else to the Senses with the new Power burning so brightly within her. Cole and Nira had both warned of the Elder One, and it was revealed that Corypheus was the master of the attacking army, the diminished power of the Orb calling out to Solas even as the Elder One’s aura tried to smother it.

Fen’Harel pressed under his skin as Nira demanded that Cullen give her a plan, lead her army, but it was Solas that ran at her back while they went for the trebuchets. Bull and Cole ran with them, tearing their way through Red Templars to do it; the garish wrongness in them only a prelude of what was to come. The Darkspawn Magister had linked himself to a Lyrium Dragon and now Solas didn’t know if he could kill him. They made for the gates for all the good they would do.

There was no reason for him to stay calm, contained. All his careful plans had once again fallen to dust around him, his failures an ever building pile of dead friends. Cullen told Nira that all they could do was make the Red Templars work to kill the Inquisition; instead of despair she saved lives and gave people a reason to hope. Scout of Clan Lavellan, she was now a beacon carving her way through their enemies to get those left alive into the Chantry, and Solas held onto his great rage for a while longer.

Compassion warned that all the Elder One wanted was the ‘Thief’ dead, his dark sad eyes staring at Solas when Fen’Harel snarled just under his skin because now Solas simply wasn’t strong enough to stop that from happening. She had no chance against Corypheus, his magic was trained from birth and with that Dragon he was functionally immortal. Nira did not complain when it because clear that she was expected to sacrifice herself, the knowledge that trying to survive now would only cause more innocents to die silencing any objections and Solas cursed Andruil for ever establishing Vir Tanadhal. His da’fen would never balk at Duty, even if the only reason the monsters in the dark were after her was a mistake she shouldn’t suffer for. 

 To add to the insult his Pride bore, the posturing cleric from what felt like a different life time offered all those Nira was willing to die for a way out; all while Nira and the Power that would draw Corypheus’ attention remained behind. Alone. 

“But what of your escape?” Cullen demanded, only just seeming to realize the cost their lives was going to accrue. Nira just gave Cullen a slightly amused but still sad smile. “Maybe you can find a way.” He persisted, and Solas wanted to have the hope the Commander held onto. Nira was a remarkable woman, and he absolutely believed that given a reasonable opponent, she would find a way to defeat them and survive. Corypheus emboldened by Solas’ foci was not in the league of reasonable though.

It felt like a funeral running behind her to offer what little support he could. He wanted to say something, do something that would change the outcome of the next few minutes of her short life, but there was nothing Solas could affect that would help her now. He still caught her looking over each of her friends as she loaded the trebuchet, unmistakably trying to memorize them each for just a moment longer. When she looked towards him Solas met her gaze, refusing to look away simply because they both believed she was about to die, and for once there were no games between them.

The moment broke as the Dragon screamed by overhead, and Solas settled Barrier over them all. The lyrium tainted fire started to burn through the layers of it inexorably; he was so diminished compared to what he once was. Another pass from the Dragon, only this time something exploded. The percussive force fanned the lyrium flames higher and cut Nira off from the rest of them though Solas did not willingly retreat from her. The Dragon targeted them and the only way they could help their Herald now was to draw the beast away, buy her time to find a way to survive. He could feel every step they took, the bond stretching between them and he braced for how much it was going to hurt when Nira died.

\--

Nira watched the Spirit wearing a shemlen face as he warned her that the Elder One had come for her. To her eyes the boy was ghostly pale, taller than her but so submissively curled into himself that he felt smaller. His hat made up for the dissonance, having such a wide brim that his face and features were all but eliminated. It uncomfortably reminded her of how Fen’Harel’s Wolf head hood had concealed his face even in the Fade. Since she wasn’t likely to live to face the Dread Wolf again, it was almost frustrating to realize she was disappointed. She’d never gotten an answer as to why Fen’Harel had no problems chasing her through the Fade now that she had Power in her palm, but refused to step in and deal with The Elder One. Ultimately it didn’t matter; she was here, the Elder One was here, and there were no gods of anyone’s people around to help.

Cole was though, human seeming but Nira could feel his Otherness in the way Elvhen mages must sense her in turn. She found she didn’t care, the Inquisition had started out mostly human but now it was growing and changing. Why not allow a spirit on the team as well, he had asked to be there. They made for the trebuchets, a veritable army of Red Lyrium Templars in the way. In Redcliffe’s failed future she had torn through many like this with Dorian at her side, now it was Solas at her right hand and his expression was gloriously infuriated. Since she was about to die anyways Nira could admit to herself that she found his anger appealing; turning his handsome features more honestly savage than the civilized expression he tended to don. Bull looked absolutely thrilled to be charging into the face of an army, and Nira took heart from her companion’s pugnaciousness.

She’d taken the mages from the Venatori. She’d channeled their power and sealed the Breach. So far her survival rate for impossible odd was sitting at a perfect score. A Qunari spy, an Elvhen apostate, and a Spirit with a physical body ran with her; Nira had no magic left to call upon and yet she felt steady. Either she would live to see tomorrow or she wouldn’t, right now she could only react to what was happening and leave worry to be a luxury later.

The snow that fell around her was trampled and stained red underfoot; blood and lyrium both adding to the carmine hue. What had been a night for the people of Haven to celebrate had turned into a massacre for too many civilians. The gentle workers, children, those that should never have had to face the dangers of battle; the Elder One’s Red Templars didn’t care.

She walked past the hut where timid Felanenaste had carefully come out of her shell over the last few months; flames had destroyed their little hide away from prying eyes or listening ears. Nira could only pray to steadfast Sylaise that one who would have been hers in the Clans had made it into the relative safety of the Chantry. Her Vallaslin felt hot and slick, like a wash of blood on her skin instead of blood writing contained under it, the Power she’d never wanted before pulsing in time to her heart beat.

She unleashed an avalanche upon her enemies, feeling the deep rumble of the snow slide even with the great distance between. Nira had watched the life leave the eyes of the first person she had ever killed but this was the first time she’d used one single action and watched hundreds die from it.

It wasn’t enough.

The Elder One had an Arch Demon. In the distance she could hear Cullen calling for them to get inside the gates; Harritt’s blacksmith was burning and Flissa and Adnan nearly died. Cole disappeared to help the Quartermaster against a brutal pocket of enemies while in the distance someone screamed and flames chased them onwards.

Her rope dart was saturated with blood, heavier for the crimson dripping from it. The pale armour that had taken her from Orlais to the future she was preventing now was stained an almost absurd pink. She stopped trying to scrape the filth away after that but Nira reeked of blood and gore already thanks to her meander through what little was left of Haven. Still her nose wrinkled at how heavily the cleric reeked of copper and bile as they all but fell into the Chantry. Cole hovered around him as if afraid the older shemlen was about to collapse, and when he did Nira saw the slimy gray of spilled innards.

“He tried to stop a Templar; the blade went deep. He’s going to die.” Cole quickly stuffed the unappealing bloody bits back to where they approximately belonged, and Nira tried not to vomit. Give her a quick death, even painful it would be better than that.

“What a charming boy.” Roderick managed to find a sense of humour on the cusp of his own death.

She moved past him, Bull and Solas still hovering around her; each poised to react in the most violently different ways.

“Herald!” her Commander’s voice pulled her out of the oddly detached bemusement holding her, “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an Arch demon. I was in the Fade but it looked like that.” Cole’s soft voice still pulled attention.

“I don’t care what it _looks_ like. It has cut a path for that army; they’ll kill everyone in Haven!” Cullen’s anger was like the snap and snarl of a mountain cat backed into a corner; vicious and dangerous.

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.” Cole’s announcement didn’t even surprise Nira by this point. Of course the Elder One wanted her; she had been doing her best to absolutely piss him off for weeks now.

She knew the familiar weight of Duty, the constant awareness that her life had always been considered expendable. She was so tired of fighting for the right to exist but there were littles, those that simply couldn’t fight for themselves. A Scout knew that even their death served the Clan; at least Nira knew now that her Clan had grown to include more than just Lavellan.

“Herald, there are no tactics that make this survivable.” Cullen still didn’t understand that Nira would not falter. “The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets; cause one last slide.

He did not just suggest sacrificing the innocents. “We’re overrun. To hit the enemy we’d bury Haven.” Her voice held a note of warning.

“We’re dying, but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.” Cullen’s tone grimly reminded her of her own thoughts while considering Roderick’s fate.

And then Roderick gave Nira a way to fulfill Vir Adahlen. His solution reaffirmed to so many that she was this Herald of theirs, but Nira couldn’t help but wonder if a certain troublesome Wolf was taking her Fade confrontation to heart. He was known for answering the prayers of the People in unexpected ways; using a priest from another religion as his pawn would definitely fit into what she knew of Fen’Harel.

A pair of soldiers awaited her, “They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line.” Give Cullen a fragment of hope and he would mobilize an army on it. She’d never get to properly thank him for that. “If we are to have a chance –if _you_ are to have a chance- let that thing hear you.”

Cole stayed with Roderick, the only one able to hear his mind as the body kept failing, and Nira could not ask anyone to fill in the blank spot for a suicide run. Bull and Solas were already tailing her like mismatched shadows and she knew she’d convince neither one to leave her to do this alone, and then Varric stepped into his usual place without Nira ever asking. She clenched her jaw around her words and led them outside.

Haven had become the very bowels of Geldauran himself.

She had no chance to coil her rope through her hands as she did in the Elder One’s Redcliffe, her mana was gone and there was simply no time. Nira spun as if she were the dervish raised from all the lost souls sewn today. They wanted her for their Master; she would teach them to fear what she could do. Nira didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to die brave or bloody, afraid or quickly. She wanted to live to be old and gray, leathery and wrinkled. But if that wasn’t going to be her fate, Nira was going to feed them pain until the bitter end.

Bull’s vitaar had all but washed off under the shower of blood from the Templar hoard, and Barrier tingled over her skin as Nira wrenched the trebuchet’s winding wheel. Cullen’s soldiers had tried, and died valiantly; she would complete their duty too. One of the bodies that lumbered past her was porcupined from Varric and Bianca, and it wore a tattered badge reading Denam. Nira had to forget about them, trusting her life to Solas’ Barrier as she continued to wind their last chance up.

The Dragon screamed at them. Nira screamed at them. Fire screamed all around them.

The explosion ate the last traces of protection even as Nira hit the frozen ground. Her ribs hurt, bruised or cracked but the pain was too mild for broken. She sucked in air, alive and worried for her friends as she got to her feet to look for them.

Instead something monstrous came through the flames towards her. Cole had said the Elder One hurt to listen to; if he sounded at all like he appeared Nira understood entirely. Red Lyrium crystals split and grew out of its face, twisting what had once been human into something ghastly. The proportions of his body seemed horrendously stretched out and skeletal. The shrieking Dragon swooped back into view, landing to guard the Elder One like a faithful Mabari. It stomped towards her with slathering jaws wide open so Nira yelled and snarled right back; about to stuff her rope dart down it’s throat if necessary.

“Enough!” That voice. The Elder One called out, his command enough to silence the Dragon. “Pretender, you toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.” he spoke oddly archaic but Nira could mostly understand him.

Cullen had said to buy them time and be heard, she would do both. “What are you? Why are you doing this?” Maybe she could get an actual answer before her painful demise occurred.

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. Its beyond what you are, what I was.” His answer was expectedly narcissistic. “Know me; know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the _will_ that is Corypheus.” And he had a name at last. “You **will** kneel.”

“I will not.” Nira stated simply.

“I am here for the Anchor, the process of removing it begins now.” Corypheus snarled at her defiance even as he held aloft an Orb that made Nira’s entire body throb.

Corypheus gestured at her and Nira’s tainted palm felt like it was being peeled open and every bone pulled out. Her good hand dropped the rope dart to clutch at her wrist, teeth snarling silently as her left hand obeyed a will not her own.

“It is your fault, ‘Herald’. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying you stole its purpose.” Corypheus had spittle flecking his chin as he proselytized.

Nira gladly added him to the list of people her continued existence irritated; she would love to survive just to annoy them all further.

His extended hand glowed the same grotesque red as the terrible lyrium, and even tapped out of mana she could feel the sickening lurch of power he was building. But instead of striking her with it, he hooked his fingers and Pulled.

“I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched’, what you flail at Rifts I crafted to assault the very heavens.” The pain drove Nira to her knees even as she refused to cry out. The Dragon grumbled in satisfaction as it shifted its massive bulk closer. “And you used the Anchor to undo my work, the gall!” she could taste blood and magic on her tongue, her body offering up a form of energy she knew better than to tap into right now. Instead she swallowed and bared her teeth; stained scarlet no doubt. “It is meant to bring certainty where there is none; for you, the certainty that I would **always** come for it.”

Since he seemed unable to compel her forwards, Corypheus stalked towards her. The pain kept her on her knees, vision unsteady and breathing laboured. He grabbed her wrist, pulling the Anchor upwards and jerking Nira right off the ground. Her shoulder slipped the joint with a sickening pop.

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire _in person_.” Nira gripped her bracer knife and tried to slash out with it. The blade shattered some of the lyrium off of his face before sinking into his cheek. He pulled her away, shaking her in his grip and Nira cried out at the pain, shoulder and palm an agony that made her drop her knife.

“I found only chaos and corruption; dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused; no more.” He hissed at her, lifting her so that she could see the wound on his face seal shut, filled with more red lyrium. “I have gathered the _will_ to return under no name but my own; to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world.” Nira’s fist lashed out, splitting her knuckle open even as his head snapped backwards. Blood dripped down Corypheus’ lip but other than that he didn’t even react. “Beg that I succeed for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was _empty!_ ”

And then he threw her.

Nira’s back hit the wooden support of the trebuchet, and when her head snapped backwards thanks to momentum she saw stars; her ears ringing. Her vision greyed out for a disturbingly long moment but she could still hear him.

“The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling.” He hissed out at her and even with her own blood staining her teeth Nira grinned.

If all she had left was spite and death, Nira would die well.

Her vision cleared and Nira saw the bracer knife Brasirotha had given to her a lifetime ago. She lunged for the blade, getting to her feet even though something inside crackled insidiously. Corypheus and his Dragon stomped closer, one slavering one raving.

“So be it, I will begin again; find another way to give this world the nation –and god- it requires.”

When Nira saw Cullen’s flare fire in the distance, she felt calm relief soothing the pain for a moment. Vir Tanadhal, her people were safe.

“And you; I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You _must_ die.” Corypheus pronounced and Nira had to wonder at how stupid he really was; she’d figured out that end game hours ago.

Her back was pressed against a primed trebuchet and she was facing a Lyrium Monster with its pet Arch Demon. But her people were safe. No one said she had to go out entirely alone.

Spite and death.

“You expect us to surrender and kneel. We will NOT.” She could be satisfied with that fact.

Blackwall’s tragic silence, Dorian’s panache, friendly Varric, and even compelling Solas; she hadn’t wanted to be the person they were all willing to die for in that dark future, but they seemed to have made her into someone that cared. She hoped not to see them in the afterlife any time soon and hit the trigger for the trebuchet.

It launched with a satisfying ‘whap’ of sound, both man and dragon turning to watch its payload land. So Nira ran. A mountain was coming down on her, her ribs were definitely broken now, and her dislocated shoulder burned; she ran. The snow hit the walls of Haven and Nira jumped, falling through snow and wood. Then there was nothing.

Waking up was a mixed blessing.

Her chest rattled; the continued taste of copper unpleasant but she didn’t dare spit. Her left hand felt like it had been flayed and boiled, her shoulder was puffy and painful, and it took her far longer to get to her feet than she needed it to. Her balance was shit; gentle fingers questing and finding sticky blood, stinging pain, but still solid skull. Every move she made had to be carefully shifted, her legs were suspiciously wobbly and her mana was gone; another fall would be her last.

No one was around to see the tears drip off of her face when the demons in the tunnel found her. Her rope dart was gone, so were her bracer blade and belt knife. She had no lyrium positons, no healing; her lips were numb and blood stained and her pulse made her entire body ache.

The Anchor flared to life, a ball of Rift tearing into existence to slurp the demons in even as Nira screamed. Using the mark on Rifts had hurt like a growing tooth infection; this was like she had tried to turn her arm inside out. Power tore through her; an engulfing, unstoppable onslaught that Nira knew had never been her own. It left her shuddering and shaking, feeling wholly violated and exhilarated to be alive.

Her vomit had blood in it and Nira worried that she may have blacked out but there was no other option left to her; she had to go out into the storm.

Wolves howled in the distance, their cries a familiar call to bring pack to safety. She tried not to think of one Wolf while she lifted her face to the wind and howled back. Their cries led her to the cold trail of the Inquisition. Their calls beckoned her on even after she stopped feeling the pain of her injuries. When the growing storm’s winds were too loud for her to hear them anymore, she felt them in her bones.

White blinded her to everything; clogging and cloying and cold. It burned and she stopped shivering, falling to her knees again even as she realized she heard voices. The wolves were gone and so was her ability to endure, and Nira didn’t feel the Commander carry her to warmth.

She dreamt of pack and too many eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geldauran- One of the Elvhen Forgotten Ones, their 'evil' pantheon.


	8. Tuem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'Harel finds Hope while Nira battles Despair.  
> And then they have to move an army.

Nira had survived Corypheus. She’d survived the Lyrium Dragon, the Red Templars, and the Anchor itself. And when Solas had heard the others shouting, he’d known she’d survived the fall of Haven as well. Albeit barely if her appearance was any indication. Her face was bloodied but her skin was bloodless; body limp and mana drained as the Commander had carried her into the camp. Solas worried at the blue to her lips and skin, but felt the weak pull of the Mark even as Cullen rushed her into a heated tent.

They didn’t let Solas follow, and he was too agitated to properly argue them into agreeing with him. With Cassandra, Leliana, and Mother Giselle all attempting to tend to Nira’s physical wounds, Solas had to silently snarl and retreat to his own shared tent. The Dwarf was not currently present but the Warden was.

“The Herald has returned, whether or not she survives the night is now a matter of willpower.” Solas informed Blackwall, knowing the man’s nature well enough to anticipate his reaction.

“Maker’s Balls that woman is unstoppable.” The heavily bearded human grunted out. The news also galvanized the man into action, pulling on his outer gear to go join the vigil around the Herald’s tent.

Solas went to find her in the Fade.

There was blood in the snow. No tracks were left from her feet, even as devastated as she had to be Nira was a well-trained Scout and some things were in her very nature, but those crimson splatters gave away her direction. In the Fade where everything was symbolic of something else, that was a very bad sign.

She was so drained of mana and endurance that he felt no pulses of Power, no summoning Pull. Instead Fen’Harel stalked after the blood trail his da’fen had left and raced Despair to its source.

Nira was still limping through the snow, body angled into a wind that didn’t physically exist any longer. Her left arm hung limp, fingertips dangling and it was from her hand that the red dripped. He was surprised to see that it wasn’t a wound bleeding that left the trail, but the Vallaslin that had sat on her skin like an angry brand was draining away. And the closer he looked, the longer he watched, the more all the colours of Nira’s body drained away; all except the green pulsating weakly from the Power nestled in her palm.

Her footsteps disappeared almost as soon as she made them, the few things that marked Nira’s individuality were fading away and all that was left was the continuation forward while his Power consumed her; no wonder Despair circled so closely to her.

So Fen’Harel stood behind her, lifted his muzzle to the sky and HOWLED in the Fade. Despair cackled back, confident that its insidious roots would hold this time. Nira hadn’t given in, but Fen’Harel knew better than most that all living things had a breaking point.

“NO!” Nira spun around, screaming defiance at Despair and Rebellion both. Her anger vanquished the one it could affect, Despair once again run off to a safer distance. But Fen’Harel and Nira both knew he shared too much of the same wildness in her own nature to believe the anger alone. She stared up at his massive form and he saw that she had expected him to stay. “Is it the Power in my hand or the Power of a name that makes you enjoy chasing me so?” She sounded so tired; wounded.

“You have survived lethallan; I merely come to make my congratulations.” The shift to his more communicative hooded form was instantaneous.

She stood before him, metaphysical body revealing the damage her physical form bore. Her shoulder looked the worse but dislocations always looked ugly, and there were traces of blood in her teeth. But stirring up her anger, even her curiosity and spite, had helped to stop the colour and life from bleeding out of her. Once again he was powerless to actually do anything besides provoke, the will had to come from this indomitable Scout.

“I failed.” Her simple statement was almost humbling. “The dragon took him away, Corypheus lives.”

The Fade reflected the turmoil Nira carried but tried not to reveal. The constant snowstorm her penance for her supposed failure, the injuries a reminder of her self-perceived weaknesses. He could say and do nothing to convince her that she had neither failed nor been too weak; she was too astonishing and too challenging to ever be considered those.

“You live to fight again.” Was the best he could offer her; the truth from Fen’Harel. Not that she’d likely believe it.

“It won’t be enough.” She was still too close to her own trauma to see past it at the moment, Despair circling closer despite his presence at her side. The fact that he had found her still moving, still fighting on revealed the depths of her determination even if her words sounded hopeless.

"You have survived every single impossible thing lethallan, whatever else you may believe just remember that you alone have been enough to accomplish that." And he offered her a belt knife older than the landscape they now stood in. It was just a simple blade, bloodied more on roasted meat than in defence but in the Fade even such a plain thing was so much more.

She stared at it, seeming aware of the lack of her own weapons; her own defences. She looked back up at him, eyes searching into the dark under her his hood but he knew she couldn't see within it. Nira Lavellan was still so young to have endured all that she had, but within her burned the same fire that lit the heavens; unquenchable even if diminished to the merest glimmer. Even as she reached for the blade he knew it wasn't capitulation. 

Nira grabbed the hilt, momentum suddenly there as she lunged into him. He'd been prepared for a more subtle feint, her slight weight stunningly effective as she drove them both to the ground. The blade he'd offered her was now pressed to his throat and Fen'Harel snarled as the tricky Scout grasped the hand with Power to his hood and pulled.

She meant to unveil him, and with few options that wouldn't hurt her to prevent it available he took the one she made easiest for him. As Nira peeled the hood and concealing darkness away trying to show the face of once Rebel general Fen'Harel, in turn he curled a hand behind her neck and pulled her face to his, concealing his identity with a kiss. 

As expected she tore herself from the Fade, though he smirked at the tingle her surprised press of lips left on his. Da'fen had survived Corypheus, the Dragon, the Anchor, and the fall of Haven, but the wild in her called to the wild in him as much as his own Power did. It was going to be a fun Hunt.

\---

This time waking up wasn’t as much of a trial. Her shoulder hurt but it was a muffled pain, the searing in her palm had calmed, and Nira could breathe without tasting blood; it was a much better way to return to consciousness. Having arguing voices drag her out of restful sleep though, was not.

“What would you have me do? This isn’t what they signed up for!” Cullen was snarling.

“We cannot simply ignore this!” Cassandra was fearless in the face of an angered ex-Templar. “We must find a way!”

“And who put you in charge? We need a consensus or we have nothing!” the Commander shot back.

“Please we must use reason!” the Ambassador was trying to do her job as Nira opened her eyes to the waking world. It felt oddly silent and alone now that the wolves had found shelter. “Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition we’re harbourless.”

“Well that can’t come from nowhere.” Cullen sounded exhausted under his anger.

“She didn’t say it could.” Now Leliana stabbed her opinion into it.

“Enough!” Cassandra got louder as Nira reluctantly sat up. “This is getting us nowhere.”

As much as she would love to lie still and let the shemlen argue over whatever it was they were shouting about, Nira wanted to sleep so badly it left a foul taste in her mouth and they were preventing that. Mother Giselle shifted n her seat, turning to check on Nira even as Cullen snarled out, “We’re agreed on that much!”

“Shh... you need your rest.” The Mother tried to counsel, as if Nira was awake at the moment by choice.

“They’ve been at it for hours.” Nira sighed, knowing the Advisors well enough to realize that for them to be this haggard; things were dire. She carefully sat up further, ignoring the disapproving look the Mother Giselle gave her.

“They have that luxury thanks to you.” Giselle’s quiet comment made Nira’s mouth purse. “The enemy could not follow. And with time to doubt we turn to blame.” She shook her head sadly, as if this were a simple matter to solve. In a Clan they followed the Keeper but the Inquisition had its Advisors and her Anchor, no leader.

“In fighting may threaten us as much as this Corypheus.” Mother Giselle’s concern was a real one, Nira had seen other Clans fall apart under a bad Keeper, but there was precious little Nira could do to help prevent that.

“Do we know where Corypheus and his forces are?” she had to ask. If she had followed wolves and found the Inquisition, that Magister and his Dragon could too.

“We don’t even know where we are, which may be why despite the numbers he still commands there is no sign of him. That or you are believed dead.” At least the human was honest about it. “Without Haven we are thought helpless, or he girds for another attack. I cannot claim to know the mind of that creature,” her accent showed heavier when she started to allow emotion into her voice. “Only his effect on us.” She looked back out at the Advisors.

“The only thing yelling gets us, is a headache...another headache.” Nira wondered what these people needed from her now. She’d been willing to die for them, wasn’t that enough?

“They know, but our situation -your situation- is complicated. Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed.” Her words sent an uncomfortable shiver through Nira’s spine. “We saw our defender stand, and fall. And now we have seen her…return.” Mother Giselle shook her head softly, as if she herself still didn’t know what to make of that. Nira carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed, ready to escape whatever it was this woman wanted to say to her. “The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear. And the more our trials seem… _ordained_. That is hard to accept, no? What _we_ have been called to endure. What _we_ must perhaps must come to believe.” Her emphasis was anything but subtle.

“I escaped the avalanche, barely perhaps, but I didn’t die.” Nira shook her head but didn’t look at the Mother. She was nothing special; trying to make it seem like she was, was a waste of the Mother’s time.

“Of course, and the dead cannot return across the Veil. But the people know what they saw. Or perhaps what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment and in how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?”

“You saw Corypheus,” Nira didn’t bother hiding her anger, “what do you think of his claims of assaulting the heavens?” The Creators were locked away, unable to help her People and all that was left to stand in the way of a man trying to be a god was one half-breed Dalish mage and a broken Inquisition. The world was doomed.

“Scripture says Magisters, servants of Tevinter’s Old Gods, entered the Fade to reach the Golden City; the seat of the Maker.” It was a mistake to ask a Chantry Mother that question, Nira braced for proselytizing. “For their crime, they were cast out as Darkspawn. Their hubris is why we suffer Blight and why the Maker turned from us. If such is the claim of this Corypheus, he is a monster beyond imagining. All of mankind continues to suffer for that sin. If even a shred of it is true, all the more reason Andraste would choose someone to rise against him.”

There it was; the expectation and the weight of Duty. “Corypheus said he found only corruption and emptiness; nothing Golden.”

“If he entered that place it changed him without and within; the living are not meant to make that journey. Perhaps these are lies he must tell himself rather than accept that he earned the scorn of the Maker, I know I could not bear such.” At least the Mother was honest about that. Nira had the opposite problem, the god of her People left on this world considered her kindred; it shouldn’t have been heartening to have the Dread Wolf champion her.

“Mother Giselle, I just don’t see how what I believe matters.” Nira gave her own honesty back. What she wanted, what she believed had never been enough to take into consideration before, why would it matter now? “Lies or not, Corypheus is a real, physical threat. We can’t match that with hope alone.”

She stood up finally, taking a second to breathe through the dizziness and disorientation. Her flesh felt like it sat wrong on her bones and her mana churned wildly inside. She was still aching, still trembling with fatigue and pain, and yet she swallowed all of that down and stepped away from the Mother, out towards the Advisors. The fact that she had to move slowly and rest against the tent pole only added to her agitation; she couldn’t even defend herself right now let alone her People.

They all looked so defeated, even though they lived. Josephine sat on a bench, curled in front of the fire while Leliana sat close by her, all tucked into herself as if she was trying to be a smaller target. Cullen remained standing and pacing, sleeplessness tingeing his handsome face gray and Cassandra poured over a map as if it would give her answers. Or hope.

Maybe Giselle wasn’t wrong. Nira had played the role of dutiful Clan daughter, had embraced the life of a Scout, and even endured the burden of being a mage. She’d stood ready as sacrifice even. If these people needed her to let them lie to themselves about her also being a Herald of Andraste and supposedly blessed by the Maker, she could bear the weight of that as well. She would protect her People.

Giselle’s voice was warm and rough, practiced but also naturally beautiful. Nira wasn’t the only one to turn and look at her in surprise as she sang about the dawn, but it worried her as the Mother walked up next to her. As if the song wasn’t for Nira at all. And Leliana joined in on the next refrain, soldiers and others coming in brokenly until even her Commander was singing.

To say that it was eerie to have an entire army of shemlen singing to her in unison and then dropping to their knees was an understatement. Nira looked past them all, searching for some semblance of sanity. Cole closed Roderick’s eyes, the man a corpse now and Compassion’s duty done and still these people sang at her. She wanted to run back out into the blizzard and let it take her, she was just a Scout. She wasn’t a beacon of hope, or faith, or even good common sense. She was just Nira Lavellan, unwanted daughter and reluctant mage, trying to stay alive. At least Solas looked as unnerved by the chanting as she felt, though he got to stand on the far side of the crowd and simply watch.

“An army needs more than an enemy. It needs a cause.” Mother Giselle explained after the singing stopped and the shemlen scattered, life back in their eyes.

Nira watched the Mother walk away, reviewing what had just happened and what it now meant for her.

“A word?” Solas’ voice pulled Nira out of her ruminations, and she followed him away from the now noisy Inquisition.

He led her away from the bustling life and out towards a small knoll nearby, still within the perimeter but given a fraction of privacy. A torch he lit with Veil Fire as easily as most used natural flame even as Nira limped out after him, he’d moved slowly but she still felt so tired.

“The humans have not raised one of our People so high for Ages beyond counting. Their faith is hard won lethallin,” His cultured voice was carefully measured and she wondered what emotion he was hiding even as she tried not to shudder at his word choice, “worthy of Pride, save one detail; the threat Corypheus wields. The Orb he carried, it was Ours. Corypheus used the Orb to open the Breach; unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave.” He shifted his body weight, not actually looking at her but out at the barren snowy mountains they hid within. Nira looked him over, reading off his stance that despite appearances he was worn down with exhaustion as well but still driven by determination. “We must find out how he survived, and we must prepare for their reaction when they discover that the Orb is of Our People.”

Nira nodded, his concerns made sense. “What is it and how do you know about it?” her suspicion seemed to please him for some reason.

Now he turned to face her straight on, hands still held behind his back; stiff and formal. “Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins and faint visions of memory in the Fade; echoes of a dead empire.” He’d stepped carefully closer to her as he spoke but now turned away again. “But however Corypheus came to it, the Orb is Elvhen, and with it he threatens the heart of human Faith.”

There was no point in arguing with him about it, she’d _felt_ the Orb. Whatever it was that had dug into her palm and sent Power into her, it resonated with the same aura as the Orb. And whatever god of her pantheon it belonged to, and Nira had a suspicion about that, it was not Sylaise; the Hearth Keeper followed Vir Atish’an, the way of Peace.

“Even if we defeat Corypheus, eventually they’ll find a way to blame Elves.” She only had to look at recent history to know that. Pia Surana had been their Hero and still humans slaughtered her kind in the name of their god.

“I expect you are correct.” He smiled lightly, as if her paranoia was amusing. “It is unfortunate, but we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies. Faith in you is shaping this moment, but needs room to grow.”

She looked back at the dark camp, fires burning and people huddled close for warmth. With jackets and hats on, bodies buried under cloth, the scene was no different than one she’d seen a hundred times returning to the Clan in the winter. Solas was right, but he was also so very wrong. These were her People too, whether they had Faith in her or not wasn’t important to Nira.

“By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it –changed you.” She looked at Solas as he spoke up again after a long moment of silence. He stepped up beside her, shoulder nearly touching hers. “Scout to the North, be their guide.” He suggested and Nira couldn’t help the slight smile his words brought her. She could be their Scout **that** she still knew how to do. “There is a place that waits for a force to hold it, there is a place where the Inquisition can build, grow.”

At dawn they followed her out of their camp. She followed Solas’ suggestion, facing North and finding a way for her People to follow. The Commander and his soldiers would keep them safe as Hunters in the Clans did, Leliana and her birds kept them connected. Josephine and Cassandra saw to the needs of her people as those that followed Sylaise and Ghilan’nain had for centuries and Nira led them all onwards, Solas a constant step behind her. Her wounds would heal on the way, those the Inquisition bore would take a while longer but she knew they would follow her, thanks to Mother Giselle.

The small knolls and foothills fell away, snow covered grass replaced with ice slicked stone as they crawled higher into the Frostbacks. Her ribs stopped hurting first, each inhale easier to take until she stopped thinking about the old wound at all, her shoulder lost its inflammation and regained mobility before she had finished forming a new rope dart. And even before her hand had recovered, Nira began training it, no longer trusting her own arm to follow her Will. She found them passages through the caverns, always a way forward and onwards despite the doubt she held in herself, and they followed. Until after far too long a travel for injured civilians and far too short a distance from Haven, she crested one ridge and saw the new home of the Inquisition.

A castle. In the middle of the mountains. Forgotten by everyone but Time itself and just waiting for her. Nira was half expecting to hear the cry of a sadistic Wolf inside her head; instead Solas smiled and told her the castle’s title, “Skyhold.”

She felt something there, distant from the keep but waiting. It felt like she was coming home.


	9. Ave'mah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nira and the Inquisition claim Skyhold while a wary Wolf watches.  
> Solas finds himself acting on impulse and being left with damage control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been away on vacation so sorry for the delay. Hope this chapter makes up for it. Poor Nira.

It had been an absolute pleasure to see da'fen walk towards Tarasyl'an Te'las to claim it as her own. The mountains had nestled the Keep as expected, latent magic protecting the open portcullis from breach even without guard or Sentinel. He could feel the stones of Skyhold react beneath Nira's bare feet, her Mark Calling out as she walked across the bridge ahead of him. Skin contact always did help latent magic return to the surface, and this Keep had been soaking in energy since the formation of the Veil. She couldn't even see the ripple following in her wake, a metaphysical gasp of air as his once retreat claimed a new Master. It should have stung his Pride but Solas found he enjoyed thinking of this Scout discovering the ancient intricacies of a place he'd once called home.

Nira paused ahead of him, body framed in the archway of the portcullis and the darkness beyond looked ready to swallow her whole; as if Skyhold were a living beast in need of sustenance. But there was no concern on her face or in her eyes as she turned to look for him; cheeks flushed with obvious pleasure despite her facial control. "I think this will be the first time I'll enjoy walking into a place with so many walls. What have you gifted to me Solas; how could you know this was here?" she didn't sound suspicious, tone too respectful and astonishment too real to be artifice.

"Finding unique and impossible things seems to be a consistent thing in my life nowadays da'fen. And if your growing Power," he subtly emphasized the word and saw understanding guard her expression, "is to find a home to defend itself in then why not in a Keep even Time forgot." he challenged lightly.

Nira's eyes were sparkling with laughter though her voice betrayed none of it. "Only you could give a Dalish Scout a fortified Keep from ancient history."

He found it impossible not to watch the small, subtle changes that crossed his da'fen's face as she explored. Her stoicism was a shield but he watched with fascination as her pupils flared wide with delight as they entered the Keep side by side to see the lower courtyard still stood framed by intact buildings and walls of stone. And not a single inhabitant that couldn't be relocated easily. Even the wooden doors along the walls still stood intact; the heavier defence spell work had allowed their endurance while the interior doors fell to Age.

Whispers of magic long laid echoed in his sensitive ears, ghosts of those long gone to dust. His regret slowed him and once again Nira strode ahead, her steps sure. Fen'Harel sat unsettled but still and Solas felt his displeasure. If this was to be Hers then he needed to let her colour this place without his bias; she deserved that much after all she'd endured.

"Well little wolf," Varric barged in, placing himself next to the Herald, "looks like you're still a damn good Scout." he complimented brashly.

"I had faith and a good tip." Nira's reply was joking in tone but honest in its compliment. She flushed slightly before looking to confirm that Solas had caught it.

The smirk on his lips darkened her blush and he saw the corners of her mouth pinch slightly at the uncontrolled reaction. But when Solas looked away, his own ears betrayed his alarm to find Varric grinning at him knowingly.

It was only the first irritation to interrupt their peaceful explorations; Nira's attention seemed to be required for all decisions now that they believed her to be holy.

He retreated from the Advisors who descended, resigned to observing Nira from a distance as she tried in vain to break free of the needy humans to explore as she so clearly wanted to. She was a curious da'fen and he lamented that the Inquisition had followed so closely behind his talented Scout; they robbed her of the chance to adventure freely.

"You know something funny Chuckles," the Dwarf intruded again, alone and unwanted. He ignored Solas' deliberate silence, "you keep trying to tell me that you're not interested in our Herald there, but then you look at her like a starving man finding a feast."

Solas glared down at the irritating Author. "I do not require your commentary on the matter." he warned.

"And yet you're going to get it." somehow Varric's friendly tone still had a sharp edge to it. "Don't lead her on, Nira has enough on her plate without having to worry about what your intentions are."

Anger was too easily summoned but once unleashed a trial to reign in; Solas needed to remain in control and so instead he chose more surgical weapons than his rage, "Don't you have a lost bird to call to hand?" his words silenced the writer's smugness. "You convinced the Seeker of your lies but Cassandra read your novels; she was already inclined to believe you. I never have." his words were bit short, anger keeping him sharp.

"It takes a liar to spot a liar." Varric pointed out without losing his friendly smile.

He felt his darker aspects mutter dissatisfaction over the disrespect and his Pride would only tolerate so much, but Solas's temper was tamed by his control. There were witnesses and he would not ruin Her first day in their new home. The Inquisition's new home.

"The Advisors are up to something and here you two are trading barbed whispers at each other." The Qunari spy stepped into view, his voice a low rumble of amusement.

"What are you talking about Tiny, this is perfectly cordial." the shortest liar greeted the tallest and Solas grimaced as he realized he was once again drawn into their activity.

"Red and Ruffles are discussing arrangements involving the Boss. Almost sounds like an assassination except I'm certain they still need Nira alive." Iron Bull stated bluntly.

It succeeded in grabbing their attention and Solas wasn't the only one  to turn a critical eye towards the Advisors within view. Solas nearly snarled when he saw the Commander standing close beside her as they talked, a fold out table already laid with map and paper.

The brutal efficiency of the Commander's artificers and engineers quickly mapped out a blueprint of the Keep Solas could have drawn in his sleep. Before the sun would set on that first day he knew they'd already had plans for the rooms still standing and so he'd quickly laid claim to an innocuous seeming space.

The main floor of the rotunda was not the lowest level of that tower, and he needed to ensure that it was not found by any of the current occupants. His private rooms held secrets that could expose him; the least of which was the Eluvian he had once used to connect to the rest of the Elvhen world. Now it stood dead and Powerless, the key to unlock it buried in Nira's hand and if he were to bring her there to his sanctum, it would not be to put her hand on a mirror.

He pushed the thought angrily aside and focused his main efforts on setting up for the frescos. It would be good to have a project to devote his attention to.

Inspiration was quick, easy, and inevitable. The suspicious activity Bull had reported was a conspiracy to aspire Nira to the role of Inquisitor. Quite the title to bear for one so determined to just be a Scout. Again Solas had reluctantly lurked back, watching slightly removed as Cassandra beckoned Nira over to the huddle of Advisors; it was time for their little ambush. Inside a darker humour wondered if Nira would run from this as she had from him in the Fade.

She walked over to them, all unknowing as they split to go play their roles. Cassandra proselytized and marched up the stone steps, Nira following in suspicious silence. He did what maneuvering he could to stay within hearing and it didn't surprise him when Nira skipped past the compliments the Seeker offered and cut to the chase.

"He came for this and now that it's useless to him he wants me dead. That's it." Her tone wasn't even angry, just patient and controlled. As if explaining a difficult concept for the thirteenth time. He lost track of the conversation as their quick step took them towards the upper level stairs. The scene was already set up he saw; sword and soldier, Ambassador and Nightingale at their positions.

Crowds were gathering; drawn by whisper and curiosity, pulled to watch as Nira now always seemed to draw the eye despite her attempts to be anonymous. With the sun arching past noon she was highlighted in the crisp mountain air, the dramatic red of her Vallaslin leaving her features seeming streaked with blood. It brought to mind how bloodied she truly had been when they'd found her after Haven and Solas tried not let the distress from that memory show.

"You're offering this to a half-breed, are you sure you know what you're doing?" Nira's voice came back within hearing, her incredulity making her volume incautious.

The Seeker's honesty in her response at least earned a little respect; she didn't shy away from the effect Nira's heritage had on those around her. She was 'Elf-blooded' and a mage, and apologetic about neither. And Solas actually felt himself be impressed when the Seeker revealed how much she had already changed. "What it means to you, how you lead us; that is for you alone to determine." Not a single impatient command to it.

He saw Nira's face settle into the ever so unquiet lines of concern as she thought about the offer. Her eyes flicked to the sword lying on the Nightingale's hands and he could almost feel her accept the weight of Duty onto her shoulders. Her Inquisition had found solace in his Home and Solas wasn't too blind to his own self to not realize the sense of satisfaction that thought had given him.

Nira reached her unMarked hand for the hilt, the leather of her gloves nearly a match in colour. Although she was a slight woman and a Scout she showed no unfamiliarity to handling a sword as she held it aloft.

"I will lead us against Corypheus, and I will do my Duty for the Inquisition. An Elvhen mage standing for Thedas; the Inquisition is for all." Solas was free to grin viciously at Nira's brilliant if unwise defiance. He hadn't doubted that his da'fen would rise to the challenge, he was just impressed with her continuing spirit.

Despair felt a long lost shade once again and Solas found more satisfaction in that.

"Whereever you lead us." Cassandra confirmed despite how neatly Nira had presented her heritage as a direct part of her leadership. The Seeker stepped to the edge of the mid riser and called out, "Have our people been told?"

Despite the crush of the now filled lower courtyard, Lady Montilyet looked pristinely rumple-free in her ruffles. "They have," the Ambassador confirmed and Solas realized a crier must be beyond the gates and ravens aloft, "and soon the world."

"Commander, will they follow?" Cassandra demanded, scripted perfectly.

It irritated Solas to see the Commander posture now that the Inquisitor was watching. "Inquisition; will you follow?" the man called out in his parade tones, heard by all. It was no surprise at all when they cried affirmative. "Will you fight?" Again they cheered their response. "Will we triumph?" the people calling back in cheer was deafening but Solas could tell there was still something more coming.

"Your leader, your Herald, Your Inquisitor!" the clap of sound in response shocked the ears, louder than all the other sounds before.

He could see their fervor unsettle Nira as much as the sound clashed against his fine senses. Fen'Harel had chased her away with a kiss, despite their better intentions the Inquisition might succeed to as well. Her unnaturally green eyes scanned the area quickly not in a panic but with intensity and he was still caught in surprise when she locked her gaze onto his. He had been all but hidden from mortal view, the Fade a cloak as well as a shield.

Her shoulders went back, eyes sparkling with challenge and she lifted the sword aloft dramatically while the people cheered as if to say 'is this holding their Faith enough?'

His grin was Proud as he inclined his head to her respectfully, laughing before turning inside. He had a wonderful idea for the first frescoes, a way to blend the past and the current life of Skyhold. He would fill her home with beauty to combat the ugliness of the world around them, and even if he couldn't watch her explore the Keep, he knew that eventually the Inquisitor would come to him.

\---

The tents just inside the gates of Haven looked peaceful but strange without Varric lingering outside by the fire. She'd never seen the Chantry town empty before but it was oddly beautiful in a faintly melancholic way. Solas walked ahead of her and she watched his long strides lope up the distance. Something about the scene bothered her but she couldn't put her finger on what; it wasn't unusual for them to walk while discussing magic. But she couldn't remember why were they out there.

"Why here?" she wondered, slowly trying to ease into the role of student again. She'd yet to tell anyone about the changes in the Anchor since her face off with Corypheus, and Solas was the one person she absolutely should tell but still she hesitated.

"Haven is familiar; it will always be important to you." he explained almost flippantly, stepping away from her the moment she moved within arm's reach.

She wondered if he was about to tell her he was leaving; the Breach was closed after all. "We talked about that already." It was impossible to hold entirely still, her agitation expressing itself in the shifting of her weight from foot to foot despite her best efforts at discipline.

He didn't answer her though, opening the door to a dungeon that Nira only faintly remembered. "I sat beside you while you slept, studying the Anchor." She knew he was watching her out of his peripheral vision but Solas didn't look directly at her as he spoke.

"How long can it take to look at a Mark on my hand?" her light taunt brought a smile to his lush mouth.

"A magical Mark of unknown origin; tied to a unique Breach in the Veil? Longer than you might think." now he faced her, amusement letting him ease his guard down apparently. "I ran every test I could imagine," his insistence appealing; revealing traces of his scholarly ways. "I searched the Fade but found nothing," he was so disgusted at that failure and as he paced Nira had another sense of something odd, she just wasn't sure yet. "Cassandra suspected duplicity, she threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn't produce results." he sounded more annoyed at the indignity than concerned over the threat.

 "Cassandra's like that with everyone." Nira honestly remarked and he laughed, a flash of surprise.

"Yes." the smile stayed on his face as he turned to walk, waiting for Nira to follow.

The sunlight was beautiful as they stepped outside the gates, the army camp silent and still. "You were never going to wake up," he continued his narration and Nira enjoyed the ease with which he discussed her almost demise, "how could you? A _mortal_ sent physically through the Fade. I was frustrated; frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach." the carefully harmless mask he wore fell apart to his emotions; the distracting mouth twisted in a frustrated sneer. She wanted to bite his lip just to see what kind of sound he'd make. "Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra or she in me." There was something almost familiar in the intensity he used to circle around her, carefully out of striking range. "I was ready to flee."

"The Breach threatened the whole world." That was the entire reason she'd even stayed in the first place, "where did you plan to go?"

He caught the slightly mocking tone she used and flashed his teeth at her in a sharp grin. It brought an involuntary flush to her cheeks. "Someplace far away where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me." his smile turned more wry, "I never said it was a good plan." If he continued to flirt she was going to get her hopes up. She had almost died and he had looked at her differently, almost desperately but he hadn't said anything thus far. This was the clearest sign of his interest and Nira was desperate to have proof for sure.

He stared up at the Breach, their location the familiar little path outside his hut. "I told myself," his body shifted into action; a purposeful thrust out towards the Breach, "one more attempt to seal the Rifts. I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the Rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee. And then..." she remembered the moment almost forcefully; the first time they'd met and he'd pushed her hand out towards the Rift. The pain had been overwhelming. When Solas turned to face her again, Nira's chest heaved with phantom adrenaline; her body primed for a fight that had already happened. "It seems you hold the key to our salvation." he actually stepped closer, seeming to forget his earlier caution. "You had sealed it with a gesture, and right then I _felt_ the whole world change."

She tried to remain impassive but couldn't get past one thing, " _Felt_ the whole world change?" did he chose that wording, that emphasis deliberately? She'd rather face Fen'Harel naked in the Fade than have guessed his intentions wrong.

"A figure of speech." he immediately declined but couldn't look her in the eye to do so.

"I know the metaphor," she stepped closer to him and he let her approach. "I'm more interested in 'felt'." he was a scholar, he had to have picked that phrase on purpose.

"You change...everything." he admitted softly.

He reached for her even as Nira chucked her caution aside and stepped towards him. Damn his height, she had to go on toes to do it but her fist caught in the cord of his necklace and she pressed her lips to his. Solas kissed like he spoke, all authoritarian and deliberate with a provocative tongue. Her hand gave an unexpectedly pleasurable throb and Nira stepped back with a gasp.

Solas looked at her as if he had only one shred of control left and it had snapped the moment she'd moved back. He looked gorgeously wrecked even as he came for her and something inside her thrilled at the sight. He kissed like her lips were an ambrosia he couldn't get enough of and Nira learned that when she bit his lip he gave a deliciously guttural snarl. Magic coiled and looped in her belly, a spell wisp bubbling into existence as he dipped her slightly off balance, hands firm on her back.

He stopped for a moment, head shaking as if this was a bad idea but he pulled her closer again without saying anything. She found she could greatly enjoy kissing if it was always like this, her head lost to the flutter of magic in her gut, the press of his body against hers only feeding her conviction that getting him naked would be a good idea. She felt almost more stable for the presence of his lips, her desire burning away her hesitation and she used her Marked hand to gently touch his cheek.

And then he stepped back sharply, hands abandoning her body swiftly. "We shouldn't," his voice sounded wrong, expression apologetic. "It isn't right."

Nira forced everything in her head to go quiet for a heart beat; he could kiss her like that, hold her body desperately like he had, and then claim it wasn't right? It hurt that her half-breed status was an obstacle for him after all.

"Not even here." his words broke her line of thinking.

"What do you mean, even here?" she refused to acknowledge the ball of dread that had replaced that naïve flutter in her gut. Any distraction to ignore that her moment of vulnerability had been foolishness in the end. Things had been unsettled between them before this, it was going to be unbearably awkward now. He was definitely going to leave.

Clearly none of her turmoil showed on her face as Solas gave that smirk and asked, "Where did you think we were?" as if his lip wasn't still marked from her teeth.

So it never happened then; she knew this game.

"This isn't real." she spoke up without meaning to, unable to believe she'd read the patterns and signals so wrong.

"That's a matter of debate." Solas tried to put his Hahren voice on and Nira kept her expression plain. "Best discussed after you wake up."

His cryptic sentence had her sitting up in her new bed. She never slept in it; someone had placed her here and her last known physical location had been when she'd gone to question Solas. Logic said he had likely carried her here after whatever Fade walking dream wine she'd had kicked in. But that level of intimacy seemed unlikely given his reaction to her kissing him.

If he wanted to act like it hadn't happened then she could put on that mask too, he would not be the first to ask. Actually until Ilriane, Nira had believed she was untouchable to Elvhen paramours. But Solas had been the first she thought wanted her that she actually desired in return.

Unfortunate.


	10. Ha'lam'shira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Champion comes to Skyhold and bad news follows. But it's truly not Rena Hawke's fault. This time.  
> And despite himself Solas makes friends and enemies and sometimes they are the same person. Rarely are they anyone but himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the two stories collide in real time. So if you want to be technical it goes:
> 
> Champion Takes Commander Chapter 1  
> Letters to Missing Persons  
> Lanun'ven'ur'alas Chapters 1-10.  
> Champion Takes Commander Chapter 2 (but only until Hawke and Cullen meet on the battlements!)  
> Lanun'ven'ur'alas Chapters 10+
> 
> AAAND I'll update THAT ridiculousness later........

Nira had accepted the Duty of being their Inquisitor, and now the Advisors turned to her to make all the decisions it felt like. No doubt it was a good way to ensure all blame fell on Nira’s head should the Inquisition fail; her name was on everything. But being the Inquisitor and having Skyhold as her base of operations had given Nira an authority with which to act that she had lacked as their holy Herald. She tried not to think too hard about how badly she’d wanted to run from it all at the moment she’d been offered that sword; it was the same impulse that had her bolting from the taunts of Fen’Harel in the Fade but now her People desperately needed her to be brave enough to accept. So she had.  As Inquisitor Nira had the fortified Keep, something she’d never thought to be grateful for, and the trio of Advisors were officially her Advisors intent on helping her save the world. More than that the Companions she had collected, even Solas despite her misstep in the Fade, had all elected to stay and continue helping her fight against Corypheus. Though Nira had to give real consideration to how much she trusted each one of her Companions because no sooner had she become the Inquisitor than Varric had ‘suddenly’ found out how to contact the Champion of Kirkwall.

Apparently Varric and Champion Hawke had faced off against Corypheus before, and lived to tell the tale. So now Rena Hawke, mage, archer and all around legend, was on the battlements waiting for Nira. Varric had quietly informed her of that and then left her to confer with her Advisors on the matter. Cullen seemed utterly distracted by the awareness that the Champion of his old city was here. Nira wondered if it was going to be a problem, Hawke’s people had started the Mage-Templar war after all, but since Nira needed the information Hawke had Cullen and Rena would just have to work it out.

Nira had had a plan in mind; the questions she needed answered, the questions she needed to ask to know if her experience against the ancient Tevinter Magister had been unique, and demands she needed to make if the Champion wanted to involve herself in Nira’s Inquisition. Nira was not prepared to see the Champion of Kirkwall with an infant strapped to her chest. Everything she’d been prepared to say evaporated from her head.

“Inquisitor, meet Hawke the Champion of Kirkwall.” Varric introduced with a flourish.

“Though I don’t use that title much anymore.” Hawke’s voice was soft, one hand carefully resting on the back of the sleeping infant’s body. It was a struggle not to stare at the child in trepidation, Nira worried about waking it and hearing it cry. Children had been an anathema to her freedom for the last three years but here the Champion was with her own strapped in place; and a bow over her shoulder as if her child were no obstacle to shooting.

“Hawke, Inquisitor, I figured you might have some friendly advice about Corypheus.” Varric filled the awkward silence left by Nira’s unease. “You and I did fight him after all.” But he left it to Nira to figure out the proper way to proceed. Demons she knew how to deal with, children were terrifying.

Hawke lightly swayed, unconsciously rocking the babe and waiting for Nira to look at her. “You’ve already dropped half a mountain on the bastard, I’m sure anything I can tell you pales in comparison.” Her direct reference to Haven left Nira feeling the bitter cold again for a moment but she locked the feeling away. She’d survived; if she wanted to keep doing that she needed more information than she had.

“Oh I don’t know; you did save a city from a hoard of rampaging Qunari.” Nira decided to ignore the presence of the child entirely. She needed Hawke’s answers on how to survive Corypheus and if that meant thinking like Hawke to understand them, then Nira would do what she’s always done. Adapt. Trying to teach herself had left her poorly unprepared for Haven and Nira would not make that mistake again.

“I don’t see how that really applies… or is there a hoard of rampaging Qunari I don’t know about?” Hawke scoffed with careless ease.

“Fortunately that’s one problem we don’t have.” Nira could admit, giving a smirk similar to the one Hawke wore.

“So, then, what can I tell you?” Hawke was direct at least; Nira appreciated the lack of frivolity.

“Varric said that you fought Corypheus before.” The first question Nira needed answered was how Hawke had survived.

“Fought and killed.” Hawke insisted vehemently. “The Gray Wardens were holding him, and he somehow used his connections to the darkspawn to influence them.” Her explanation left Nira immediately suspicious of her Warden Companion; if Corypheus could corrupt Wardens than Nira couldn’t trust Blackwall at her back. Though part of her resisted that thought; he’d died for her in the future.

“Corypheus got into their heads, messed with their minds, turned them against each other.” Varric elaborated, and yet despite knowing that about Wardens he was still friendly with Blackwall.

“If Wardens have disappeared, they could have fallen under his control again.” Hawke seemed to follow the same trail of thought Nira was hunting.

“So Corypheus has the Venatori, the Red Templars, and now possibly the Wardens as well.” Of course he did; and Nira only had Fen’Harel toying with her and a Mark that seemed intent on consuming her slowly. “Wonderful.”

“I didn’t come this far just to give you bad news.” Hawke offered with a tired smirk. “I’ve got a friend in the Wardens. He was investigating something related for me.” Again Hawke paced, lightly holding her child as if trying to be a moving target. Oddly enough seeing the Champion’s unease helped Nira settle her own. “His name is Alistair. The last time we spoke he was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks but since then; nothing.”

“Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks.” Varric’s humor did nothing to comfort. “Did your friend disappear with them?” Varric’s tone sounded tight on the word ‘friend’ and Nira made an assumption about the child and Warden.

“No, he told me he’d be hiding in an old smuggler’s cave near Crestwood.” Hawke’s lack of concern was either careless or confident and Nira wasn’t sure which.

“If you didn’t know about Corypheus, what were you doing with the Wardens?” she deliberately looked at the babe and back up.

Hawke laughed softly. “No, no no no. Alistair is not Ruth’s father. I went to him because the Templars in Kirkwall were using a strange for of lyrium, it was red. I’d hoped the Wardens could tell me more about it.”

It was time for Nira to share her own information then, “Corypheus had Templars with him at Haven.” The memory was unpleasant. “They looked like they’d been exposed to the lyrium you describe.” Varric could be the one to tell the Champion the Inquisition had already dubbed them Red Templars for ease.

“Hopefully my friend in the Wardens will know more.” Hawke shrugged again, an easy roll of shoulders that Nira decided to adopt; it looked less like she was admitting powerlessness and more like she was demonstrating confident ease.

“I’ll take any lead I can get.” Nira admitted tiredly, wondering how this information changed things. The Inquisition had no real plans to save anything; it could barely save itself still.

“Good. I’ll do whatever I can to help.” Rena Hawke insisted. “Corypheus is my responsibility; I thought I’d killed him before. This time I’ll make sure of it.” She stated fiercely and Nira accepted the other woman’s declaration. And then Hawke told Nira the entire story of how she and Varric were led into an ambush because her father’s blood was used to cage the beast.

Nira tried to ignore the fact that the blood of both their father’s had condemned them long before they were born. Varric had escaped before Hawke had finished her explanations, and Rena left Nira to consider what she’d learned. Nira appreciated the quiet chance to think.

Except a hideous shriek shattered the stillness and drew her attention. If Nira had come across an animal making that sound out in the wild she’d have put it out of its misery, instead her quick search revealed it to be Champion and child. Nira watched in barely concealed astonishment as the Champion of Kirkwall transformed from deadly mage to loving mother in a heartbeat, pulling child and breast free. Nira hadn’t been around enough mother-infant pairs to know if this was normal, her own relationships had left her wary about trusting such a thing.

And then to complicate matters Nira’s Commander appeared on the battlements. For a moment Nira wondered if this was going to be the bloody fight she expected, and then she saw the look on her Commander’s face and pieces clicked into place. “Oh.” Nira breathed, glad no one stood with her to see the expression on her face as Hawke and Cullen quietly spoke over who could only be their child.

When Cullen kissed Hawke Nira found she couldn’t look away no matter the bitterness. She refused to look too closely at what was bothering her more, Cullen’s affections being so obvious for Rena or that her own affections had not ended in such a happy manner. Nira turned her entire body away from the scene, knowing she had a job do to that was more important than watching Cullen discover he was a father.

She had to figure out if Corypheus had control over her Warden Companion. Nira wanted to give Blackwall the benefit of the doubt, his quiet intensity in the Failed Redcliffe future a poignant reminder that the man himself could be devastatingly loyal, but Nira had learned repeatedly in the last few days that she could not trust her own judgement regarding the men around her anymore. But if she wanted to know for sure, Nira couldn’t just confront him. She needed to know how the Wardens were connected to the Blight. Her focus on trying to find answers propelled her into the base of the library where Solas haunted before Nira recalled that she had been deliberately avoiding him since her misstep in the Fade. The changed appearance of the space killed her forward momentum.

There was a mural painted on the wall where before there’d been white emptiness. Gone was the barrenness of that damn blizzard she’d crawled through and in its place was a slowly morphing catalogue of events that had Nira cautiously approaching after assuring that the room was empty.

The first part of the wall was painted in muted reds, careful gold, and stark black used to blend throughout though there was a shock of pure black at the top that Nira recognized but couldn’t explain why. Her breathing went unsteady for a moment as she saw the eyes clustered around it and felt the sense of being prey before a hunter. And then her breathing stopped entirely as she saw the wolves on the next panel. The Inquisition sword was the middle but it was framed by a pair of wolves Nira could not take her eyes from. The rest of the murals were undone, only a few rough sketches even hinting at the next scene and Nira almost desperately wanted to know what they would reveal.

Her hand lifted to touch at the glittering, shiny traces of gold. “It’s still setting.” Solas’ voice warned softly and Nira turned to face him.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Her praise felt awkward.

“A Dalish Scout in the woods around the Free Marches?” he tone was the familiar gentle scorn he used when referring to the Dalish nomadic lifestyle, apparently Solas was still intent to proceed as if nothing had occurred between them. “I’d be more surprised if you had come across it’s like.”

“You should try to get out more Solas; sometimes the beauty of wild things can be far more captivating than hours of effort.” Nira shot back, annoyed that she was still flirting with him despite knowing better; the scene on the battlements had gotten to her after all. “Though I am one to talk, I’ve never done any of that before,” her emphasis was a subtle reference, “on a number of levels.”

Solas gave a weak laugh, unable to meet her eyes. “I apologize; the kiss was impulsive and ill-considered and I should not have encouraged it.” It was exactly what she’d been expecting Solas to say, this was not Nira’s first time having her interests shot down. She just hadn’t expected Solas to deny his participation entirely.

“You say that when you were the one to start with the tongue?” she argued despite knowing it would do no good. He wanted to act like it had never happened after all; it shouldn’t surprise Nira that someone wanted to disavow any willing part in kissing her and yet after seeing Cullen and Hawke it did. She was being a foolish, sentimental child.

“I did no such thing.” Solas finally looked up at her, his pleasant demeanour broken.

Good, she shouldn’t be the only one. “Oh, does it not count if it’s only Fade tongue with a half-breed?” her discipline broke and the words escaped.

“It has been a long time.” Solas admitted at least. “Things have always been…easier for me in the Fade. I’m not certain it’s the best idea... there are factors to take into consideration.” He wouldn’t look at her again and Nira had enough control finally to remain silent. At least he hadn’t been cruel in his rejection. “I’m not often thrown by things in dreams, but I’m reasonably certain we are awake now.” He returned to concealing what he thought with humour.

She would not let the scene on the battlements or her own silly infatuation to continue to having her make such mistakes. Nira was the Inquisitor and it was time to play the part. “With artwork like that on the walls, I’m still not convinced I’m not dreaming. But don’t let me interrupt, I’m on my own hunt.” Nira excused herself smartly and turned to the stairwell upstairs. She didn’t look back to confirm if his eyes were on her, too confused by how wrong she had been about his interest.

\--

It had been Ages since Solas had felt as disquieted by his own actions as he was now for his actions with da’fen in the Fade. Watching her slowly adapt to the Inquisition and Tarasyl’an Te’las had been far more difficult than he had wanted it to be, and he had no one to blame for that but himself. At first it was just Fen’Harel was giving da’fen space in the Fade, cautious after her attempt to unmask him but resenting the need to stay away. His darker aspect had enjoyed the taste of her surprise and knew she had hesitated under his lips before fleeing in the Fade though he acknowledged that it was shock instead of desire. But then when Solas had taken her through Haven in the Fade and he learned how much harder it was about to become. To have her unsure and non-expectant in the one context but so sure and bold in the other had been too alluring to resist. He wanted her, Solas and Fen’Harel and every dark impulse in-between, and every day it was harder to remind him of why it was a bad idea to give in.

So now Nira avoided his spaces and did not return to him for tutelage, and Solas had taken to stalking around Skyhold while Nira roamed inside; unconscious mimicry of the perimeter Fen’Harel matched in the Fade. It left him in a rather unkind frame of mind and no one seemed too eager to seek out his company, and of all the things Solas expected after the Inquisition settled into Skyhold, seeing a pair of Dalish openly approach him was not one of them.

The Elder of the pair was no mage, a rope that looked suspiciously similar to Nira’s weapon of choice hung from his belt though he also bore short sword and blade as well. The Hahren scanned Solas critically, not dismissive but not seeing a threat either. The younger Dalish was a mage and apparently the leader of the duo; he’d led them out where Solas could see them. Either he was trying to show that they feared no attack or that they presented no threat, but Solas had learned to be wary of encountering the Dalish.

“Are you a servant of the Inquisition?” the Elder Dalish queried, voice respectful and words not unkind. This one, then, knew how to pretend to be a supplicant even if he did not truly feel the role he played.

“If that’s what you wish to call it, I can hardly stop you.” Solas replied, wondering what they could want from him.

“I am First of Clan Lavellan and I come bearing news for Nira Lavellan.” The younger mage took command of the conversation and Solas felt his darker aspect shift in agitation. Neither one had given their name yet and although he doubted that they were assassins after da’fen, neither did he feel compelled to present her painful past.

“Who are you to the Inquisitor, and why do you wish to speak to her?” Solas didn’t bother to conceal his suspicion in the face of the Dalish mage's arrogance; he’d been young, hot-headed and cocky once and if this puppy pushed he would learn the hard way what experience can teach.

“I will speak with Nira and answer her questions, not yours servant.” The First did not know how to play at supplicant and Solas felt an almost malicious smirk curl his mouth.

The Elder Dalish seemed to recognize that Solas might not be the simple servant they had originally guessed him to be but for some reason made no move to inform the First. It didn’t take Fen’Harel to smell trouble in the pack; there was old blood and sickness under the scent of forest they both carried. More than the smell of illness, he caught a scent of bitter resentment between the two Dalish clansmen that he did not expect. Something unusual had drawn these two all the way here for da’fen.

“Follow me,” Solas commanded and turned, Barrier already a silent shield as he gave them his back negligently. At least one of them was clever enough to realize the implications.

He didn’t have to look to know they followed; their need to be escorted in without incident greater than any wounded pride Solas’ words might have caused. Though he did not lead them directly to where he knew Nira to be, he did not trust those that claimed to be from her past and the War Table Meeting was still being attended. Instead he gladly brought them to another who would enjoy toying with those that had built da’fen’s history.

“Master Tethras, might I introduce members of Clan Lavellan,” he deliberately gave a negligent tone, wanting the puppy to show his irritation to the Author. Both aspects of his soul was going to enjoy this if the unbridled delight in Varric’s eyes or the warning edge to his usually friendly smile were any indication.

“Ghosts from the Inquisitor’s past huh?” the Durgen’len still seemed open and inviting. “Interesting that she never really talks about any of you. How do they know our Inquisitor again?” the Dwarf passed it back to Solas smoothly and he had to smile; both Dalish seemed taken aback by being told how little Nira cared to mention them to her new People. The Elder Dalish recovered first while the mage still looked bewildered.

“They did not feel obligated to answer a servant’s questions so I know nothing Master Tethras.” And Solas could see the puppy finally realize he’d blundered somehow.

Varric laughed, his mirth the last warning the Dalish were going to get and it was far too late anyways. “Master Tethras my ass Chuckles; you’re about as much of a servant as I am! What you two don’t know is that without this guy,” Solas could see Varric’s strange charm working on these backwoods Elvhen, “the Inquisitor would never have survived to wake up to close the Breach.” And now Solas could almost anticipate the change in demeanour both Dalish men were going to give him, but instead he found himself surprised by Varric’s next words. “His close, personal relationship with the Inquisitor has benefitted the Inquisition greatly; he is no servant.”

Solas shot Varric a calculating look, knowing his shortest companion had implied a romantic relationship between Solas and Nira deliberately. It was more than the usual teasing commentary Solas had grown to anticipate from the Author, but Solas couldn’t drive for more answers in the current situation; so instead he used it to his advantage. “So who are you to the Inquisitor, and why do you wish to speak to her?” Solas repeated his initial question to less arrogant Dalish.

Oddly enough the Elder Dalish seemed to be enjoying the show despite being part of the side technically losing. “I am Brasirotha, Scout Hahren.” His title alone told Solas who this man had been to Nira; tutor and father figure, but not beloved family.

“I am Ilriane, First to the Clan and Nira’s falon’saota.” The puppy declared and Solas hoped he did not look as shocked by his words as he felt. Da’fen was married?

“You are no such thing.” Nira’s voice was dangerous without being loud, the fatal silence of a wolf stalking prey.

The War Table Meeting had ended and Solas was surprised to find that he hadn’t realized da’fen was coming closer. He was getting used to having her near and as the other day proved; he was starting to make poor decisions regarding his feelings towards da’fen. Calling himself her husband when he wasn’t though, would never be one of his mistakes. Solas wasn’t the only one to turn and face Nira in surprise at her arrival, but while he marvelled at the beautiful spark of anger her eyes held Ilriane seemed to interpret Nira’s comment as a chance to argue.

“We lay together nightly for three years trying to conceive a child,” Ilriane gave Nira what Solas suspected was supposed to be a charming, flirtatious smile. “If not husband what would you call me?” he stepped closer to Nira and to everyone’s clear surprise she did not step away as the mage carefully put hands on her arm and jaw. “What name do you call me Nira?” Solas saw the man prepare to press a kiss to Nira’s lips and fought with Fen’Harel so harshly he almost missed her response.

“Duty.” The single word wasn’t harsh, it was simply utterly unimpressed. And it succeeded in stopping the First in his tracks, surprise flashing across his face but not Brasirotha’s. Instead Nira’s old Hahren simply looked sad for a heartbeat before returning to careful neutrality. And Solas was disturbed to realize that he could read almost nothing off of da’fen’s expression; she’d become as distantly unanimated as she had been initially.

The First stepped back, hands dropping from Nira without pressing for more affection than he had already been denied. He was a brash puppy, but Solas couldn’t fault him for the speed with which he adapted. “I come here in the name of a different Duty, Scout of Clan Lavellan.” His tone wasn’t harsh or rude, instead it held actual concern.

“This is not the location; Brasirotha, Ilriane please follow me,” Nira’s tone left no room for argument but she looked at Solas and Varric before departing. Her face was carefully guarded hesitation she’d learned to use with him after the Fade and now Solas regretting his hasty actions more than ever. He underestimated how much of the Game da’fen had already learned, “Thank you Varric, Hahren Solas.”

Solas couldn’t read her intentions when Nira was still purposefully blank but he could guess at them. These were some of the People that had left da’fen so isolated that when Fen’Harel had found her in the Fade she’d never once dreamt of allies to help her. If Nira wanted these Dalish off balance and unsure he was glad to help her achieve that; and Solas couldn’t help but hope to undo some of the damage he had personally inflicted on her so carelessly.

So he bowed, lifting Nira’s Marked hand to his lips, “My pleasure da’fen.” And even though he’d told Nira that he shouldn’t have kissed her in the Fade and that there were too many considerations for it to be a good idea, Solas couldn’t help the pleased smile as he saw Nira’s flush thanks to his words and actions.

Solas didn’t even consider not watching as Nira led the other Lavellans away, knowing she would not look behind. He blamed Fen’Harel for his inability to leave things be; he’d acted impulsively instead of logically again, some of her stiff anger was directed at him now but still he watched her. Solas’ only saving grace was that he didn’t know for sure what Nira felt like when he kissed her, or else he might become as pitiful as the puppy had been. She’d been right to accuse Solas of holding a Fade kiss to a different standard because to Solas it had been a bright impulse of want and need; forgivable because the Fade made such things the norm. Knowing for sure how her lips felt under his in the physical world would ruin any hope he had of remaining impartial. He had thought he’d settled the matter of his attraction to Nira but after today they were both unsure; despite that a satisfied smile escaped his control.

“You know Chuckles, things like that make me a lot less certain I like your interest in our Inquisitor.” Varric warned, still smiling.

“As if I have ever required your permission.” Solas reminded, not bothering to deny his interest after a demonstration like he’d just put on.

“Did you notice that even Nira didn’t know to expect them?” Varric wisely redirected the conversation.

“I think something terrible drove them to seek out the one they so callously discarded.” Solas predicted, losing the humour and play from earlier. Nira took care of her People, but these two had clearly done a poor job taking care of her in return. This could not end well.

\--

Nira fervently wished Fen’Harel would take Solas for the stunt he pulled on her in the Main Hall; she knew Brasirotha and Ilriane had seen the effect he had on her. It was frustrating to think she knew what to expect from Solas only for him to constantly, erratically surprise her. But it was a matter she would solve without an audience watching. Especially with such an avid judgemental audience as the pair walking behind her.

She took them into Josephine’s office but not into the War Room. “Ambassador Montilyet, Leliana, please attend this. But we can leave the Commander to his…afternoon duties.” Nira knew the Inquisition was still downplaying Cullen’s recently discovered fatherhood and she felt oddly reluctant to share Inquisition information with the two men who had come to find her.

One near father and one resigned lover stood to one side while Josephine and the Nightingale stood to the other, and Nira faced Josie’s fire. “These are Ilriane and Brasirotha of my Clan. Why are you here?” When she’d woken at Haven Nira had been ‘given permission’ to contact her Clan to inform them she was alive and not technically a captive. Her mother’s response had been: we would be a distraction if we came; we trust that you will do the Clan proud. It had let Nira know to expect very little in the way of interaction from Lavellan; so these two arriving to see her was foreboding.

“Bandits are attacking Clan Lavellan.” Brasirotha cut across any more flourished tale Ilriane could have woven; as the First Ilriane had developed a flair for the dramatic. “Too well armed and armoured, and they come in numbers our Hunters can’t match.” His straightforward delivery was truly dire; Nira had lived through a forest fire with him that he’d classified as ‘irritating’.

Unhappy to be ignored, Ilriane took over the narrative. “We’ve settled in a small, unclaimed valley not far from Wycome, a safe place with few rifts. But these bandits may force us to seek a new home.” And under Ilriane’s careful words Nira heard her mother’s warning. If Clan Lavellan moved, it did so without Nira as a part of it.

Even across an ocean her mother was trying to strip away everything that Nira could make for herself. “And why were the two of you sent as messengers?” the shemlen might not understand how Dalish hierarchy worked but Solas seemed to have picked up on it.

“That is Clan business and not to be discussed in front of outsiders.” Ilriane gave her a disapproving frown. Brasirotha merely watched her; still as the fox waiting to fight or flee.

“Clan business you discussed in my Main Hall in front of multiple outsiders already.” He wasn’t used to her talking back; after Nira had earned her Vallaslin she had become verbally withdrawn. Ilriane had forgotten that Nira followed Vir Assan; always strike true, even if her weapon is only her words.

“I’m here because my illness prevents me from fulfilling my Duty; the best I can serve now is as messenger to you.” Nira felt a quake of internal alarm that she buried at her old Hahren’s words.

“Illness?” Nira queried even as her eyes scanned him more carefully, seeing no trace of illness.

“I’m dying.” Brasirotha admitted plainly.

“How? Nira demanded, forgetting to act uncaring. Brasirotha had been in fine health when she’d left for the Conclave, they’d expected another decade before Nira had to take over entirely.

“Rifts and Bandits aren’t the only monsters in the Free Marches.” Brasirotha reminded gently. “We tried hiding the Clan in caves; they turned out to have a breach into the Deep Roads. Most of the Clan made it out untouched but…” he peeled back a sleeve to show the Taint slowly creeping up his arm. “The Keeper, and First Ilriane have done what they can and given me time for this last Duty.”

Nira nodded, knowing that so much had still been left unsaid. She looked at Ilriane next, wondering if he was dying too. He had never been an unkind lover but Nira still resented being obligated to share her body with him. “And are you likewise Tainted?” she was more curious than concerned and tried to keep it out of her tone.

“I am all that keeps the spell slowing the Taint down. Once I leave to return to the Clan, Hahren Brasirotha will die.” He said it kindly, not mincing words. Ilriane may not have ever understood Nira at any point of their sexual involvement but he understood the Scouts enough to respect their ways.

“Any other news?” Nira asked, trying to worry about the implications later. Brasirotha hadn’t just come here to die of the Taint; he’d come here for Nira to kill him. Vir Tanadhal; respect his sacrifice and not let him suffer.

“Nothing of import.” Ilriane brushed off a year of clan development that Nira hadn’t been around to witness.

“Lady Montilyet; would you kindly show my Clansmen where they may safely enter and exit the gate of Skyhold?” Asking the Ambassador would confer to the guards to treat Brasirotha and Ilriane with respect and as they left Nira knew her Spymaster was waiting. “Leliana, I need you to interrupt Cullen’s paternal duties; I want to know what he thinks of sending an armed contingent back with Ilriane to handle the bandit issue.”

“Will you be accompanying the armed contingent?” Leliana was watching Nira carefully and she schooled her expression to match expectations.

“No, the Inquisition’s forces will be sufficient.” Nira didn’t say out loud that she felt no urge to go home now; if Brasirotha was here to die than Clan Lavellan held nothing pulling her to return. Her Clan was now only a part of her People, not the entirety of them.

“Inquisitor… if you require assistance, let me be the first to offer.” Leliana discreetly let Nira know she’d understood Brasirotha’s unspoken request.

 Of course she had; she’d helped Pia save the world. Not only did she understand the Taint better than Nira had, Leliana had seen what a _pure_ Elven mage could do. “No Nightingale, it is my Duty.” Nira would face off with Brasirotha one last time and then their business would be settled. Permanently. “Thank you though.” She added after a pause.

Stepping back out into the Main Hall let Nira see that Solas was smartly absent but Varric had remained. And was surreptitiously trying to watch her. Good. Right now she needed the distractions of the Dwarf, not the struggle of whatever Solas was to her.

“Varric, I don’t want a fuss, I just want to relax. Any of your vile concoctions able to do that?” she alluded to his bottle collection in the lower level.

Varric gave her a careful look but smiled. “Yeah little wolf, I’ve got something just in mind.” He offered.


	11. Da'gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nira faces her past and is stunned at the truth she finds. Solas gets answers he doesn't know how to handle and finds the world less predictable than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but finally here is the next chapter.

The world could turn to dust and Nira would not even bat an eyelash, not after the series of events that had led her here. Impossibly surviving an explosion, apparently being spat out of the Fade, having Fen’Harel Hunt her constantly, the Anchor and Corypheus and his Lyrium spitting Arch-demon; none of these were even strange to her anymore. Nira was living a lifetime of firsts whether she wanted to or not, and sometimes she even inflicted them on herself. Currently she felt like someone had taken a hot coal to the inside of her throat and her entire equilibrium kept tilting to the side, not to mention how badly her head ached. Nira ignored the signs of a hangover, her first ever because she normally drank a single glass at most, and went to start her morning.

It was time to put away Nira the person and carry instead the Duty of Inquisitor. But before anyone could believe that of her she desperately needed a bath.

Until Haven Nira had never bathed in hot water and even though she had been accustomed to river water throughout her life, having a hot bath in her room was a luxury she wanted to take gross advantage of; though according to the Ambassador she was supposed to summon servants to fill and heat the water for her instead of using the rain barrel on her balcony and heating pails off the fireplace herself. One of these days the Advisors were going to figure out that for all the trappings they had given Nira, she really was ill suited to most of it. Her fluffy, fancy bed had been slept in only the once, and that hadn’t been her choice. Creators protect if they ever expected her to wear the clothes that filled the wardrobe.

She was settled into the hot water, letting it leech out whatever it could from her skin while she poured restorative down her throat to deal with the inside damage. The Inquisitor would need a clear head and Nira needed the taste in her mouth to go away.

Her life was never going to be that simple again though. The door to her room rapped lightly and swung open before she could call permission. “Inquisitor?” Leliana stepped into the room, spotting Nira in the bath with an amused smile.

“Nightingale.” Nira waited on the Spy’s reason to come in uninvited. If this was another power play to see what Nira was capable of she was going to have a bad day of it; hungover Nira was a lot less fun than the Inquisitor normally was.

“Your guests have both individually requested to see you first thing this morning.” The Spymaster declared, watching Nira for a reaction no doubt.

Brasirotha would have risen before the sun as always, but it was a surprise that Ilriane was asking to see her already. After the debacle of the day before she expected her First to avoid her for a while longer; maybe his ego wasn’t as delicate as she’d thought. “They can be brought in together.” Nira decided, knowing that her Spymaster wanted to know which one she’d pick over the other.

Leliana looked surprised for a heartbeat, eyes flashing down to the bathtub and Nira’s nudity. And Nira felt pleased that she had startled the Bard. “My body is not a surprise to either for very different reasons and I refuse to rush my bath. If they want to see me first thing then show them in together now and let us get this over with.”

She had agreed to be the Inquisitor; this was her Skyhold, these were her People and by the Void itself if she was going to be forced to endure Duty then she was going to lead them. Fen’Harel stalked and taunted in the Fade, all the other gods were quiet, and Corypheus marched across the world with an Arch-Demon; a Scout found the way for the Clan, Nira would find a way for the Inquisition. She was all this world had and they were all looking for a better solution but until one arrived she would not fail them again.

Leliana led the Lavellans into Nira’s room and Nira was not at all surprised to find her Spymaster shimmer under Stealth without ever actually leaving. As a Scout Nira was partially immune to Rogue tricks, but the Nightingale was no mere amateur; Nira knew she was still here but couldn’t see her. It was a matter to address later.

“Did I somehow fail to make myself clear yesterday?” Nira demanded of the men, surprising everyone in the room no doubt. Her anger and defiance had been calmly buried for so long that even Nira was surprised to find it easily stirred to life now; she could not be the Inquisitor and remain as passive as they were used to. If the members of her Clan needed to her definitively prove that to their First then she would do so. And they would never see what it cost her.

Having them escorted in while she was still nude was as much a part of the Game as anything could be. Madam de Fer had taught her that by now; your appearance is a weapon along with everything else and even naked you can hold the power, as long as it is done on your terms. Even if she hated letting anyone see the catastrophic progress of the Anchor in her palm, she knew that right now they would not look to see it if she kept them focused on her words.

Nira won the first round without ever uttering a word; Ilriane was struggling, that much was obvious by the flush at the tips of his ears and the way that his eyes darted around the room trying not to settle on her exposed body. He had come here expecting to continue the arrangement her mother and Brasirotha had set up, had accepted her rejection on the matter, and now had no concept of how to act around Nira and her body. Maybe this was cruel, or maybe it was prudent, either way Nira for once had the upper hand and it felt oddly good.

Brasirotha just looked…old. His eyes scanned over her body clinically, taking in the new scars she’d earned after leaving his tutelage and the lingering bruises fading from her latest trip to close a Rift. He hadn’t been a young man when Nira was placed under his command and the time since had never approached kind to him, but Nira was stunned to realize just how tired her Hahren seemed now. It was more than just the Taint sapping his vitality, Brasirotha had outlived two Keepers to the Clan and it seems that Deshanna would be the Keeper he died under. By Nira’s hand though, a thought she shoved to the side for a later time.

“Why did you both insist on seeing me?” she didn’t direct the question only to Ilriane, deciding that as the Inquisitor of a mostly human Inquisition she would play by the shemlen rules the world operated under. It was another way to reinforce that she was the authority here; she made the first move and put them on the defensive.

Brasirotha allowed Ilriane to answer first but she saw the trace of a smile on his lips at her maneuver; skills she had learned against ravaging bears worked just as well on Firsts. “I had hoped to discuss the matter of your mage training. You have changed since one of the People were last able to estimate your abilities.” He was falling back on careful diplomacy and Nira relented some of the edge out of her tone and expression. No need to engender resentment.

“I was changed by the events of the Conclave, and again at Haven.” Nira answered honestly but without elaborating. “I have found those capable of teaching me the control and lessons I need to master those changes, you need not concern yourself about that.” She didn’t say Solas’ name directly but given how Ilriane’s eyes narrowed and his mouth pursed with distaste, he guessed accurately.

“Such comments about Duty and yet you have placed yourself in the same arrangement with another it seems.” He couldn’t seem to resist the taunt and Nira wondered if the bitterness was about losing her or losing the Power she know had.

“Even if it was the exact same arrangement Ilriane, it would be MY choice, and that makes all the difference.” Nira shrugged off the insidious comment. “What really bothers you about this Ilriane? That I didn’t fall madly in love with you despite everyone assuming that where my body is given my heart follows?”

And with how Ilriane’s shoulders set, Nira knew she’d guessed right. It wasn’t even his fault; Nira knew that her mother had likely encouraged that belief incessantly. Because their Keeper had given her heart and body to only one man and it had hurt her so deeply she could not believe her daughter wouldn’t be the same way. As if Nira had ever been like her mother in any other fashion besides being a mage. And even then Nira half suspected her ‘gift’ might be an inheritance from her father again.

“We weren’t bad together Nira.” Ilriane argued and the pomposity was finally washed out of his tone.

“We weren’t together Ilriane. I was ordered, I obeyed. If you thought it was anything other than that it was never because I implied such.” She expected to feel angry, but the bath was soothing her hangover away and mostly she felt apathetic about the entire morning. Hangovers were physically vile but seemed to at least be giving her a decent emotional shield. “Why are you here Brasirotha?” she focused on the other man from her past.

He gave her an amused eyebrow quirk but the rest of his face remained impassive. “I have come to request the opportunity to practice with you. I am curious how the Taint has affected my skill against a master opponent.” her Hahren requesting anything as opposed to commanding felt almost as strange as him calling her a master opponent.

“We can meet in an hour at the training grounds.” She consented with a nod and he left without another word; to her or Ilriane.

Her once lover watched the Hahren leave, face wrinkled in displeasure at the Scout’s slight. She’d dismissed Brasirotha, and she was the highest ranking person available now, and Ilriane having the hardest time adjusting to that change in dynamic. “May I too request the change to practice against you? Not weapons but magic.”

Nira wanted to immediately deny his request, not wanting to expose her actual lack of ability and control him, but that would only make her appear weak. “You may request.” She didn’t actually agree yet though he was too consummate a diplomat to miss that. The People might not have the Game that Orlais salivated so fiendishly over, but they weren’t the mindless savages that the shemlen wanted to believe either.

“If I request, will I be granted permission?” Ilriane asked, proving her theory correct.

“Why did you agree to Brasirotha’s plan?” Nira countered his question with her own.

Ilriane looked down, unable to keep the eye contact Nira demanded. “They nearly killed you when your magic presented.” He shook his head. “You were a child, and that didn’t stop them from nearly murdering you for the mistakes your mother made.” He looked up at her now and Nira realized this was the first time Ilriane had looked at her as an equal. “I’m a decade older than you are Nira, I remember your father.” This stunned her, no one had ever admitted to knowing the shemlen that had left her such trials to go through. “Whatever demons the man had, whatever damage he caused Deshanna; it was never your fault. And should never have been your burden. But she is our Keeper.” And the Clan does not survive without the Keeper. It would survive without Nira. “Brasirotha came to me, saying that she was planning to send you away once you were an adult, regardless of what the Clan you were sent to would do to you afterwards. So we came up with a plan that kept you in our Clan, where at least those of us that know how wrong they all are about you could try and help.”

“I was led to believe it was his plan entirely.” Nira reminded, unable to forget that sense of hurt. The pain her mother’s smugness and Brasirotha’s silence had caused.

“Because you could hate him and still learn from him. But we wanted you to at the very least not hate me. I would not lie with you forcefully, not even to obey my Keeper.” Ilriane’s determined statement actually made Nira pause.

“And that is why it was Duty, for us both it seems.” She pointed out. Ilriane looked surprised and then actually laughed.

“I found much more enjoyment in Duty than you did, though I did try.” His humour smoothed out the haughtiness that lined his face.

“We are both free of that Duty Ilriane.” She frowned now. “If that’s how you felt, why did you call yourself my husband?”

Again Ilriane’s ear tips flushed in embarrassment. “I wanted to see the look on that Solas’ face when I called myself that. You were never supposed to hear it.”

“So that whole scene in my Main Hall was what, you boys trying to lay them out and measure?” she demanded, not laughing but definitely amused. She’d done some fairly ridiculous things herself in the name of unsettling Solas, so she had no pedestal to stand on.

“I prefer to think that it was a matter of taking measure of an unknown opponent.” Ilriane tried to spin it.

Nira let him have the ego save only because this morning had already battered the First in a way he had never endured before. She shook her head, an exasperated but amused smile slightly curling her lips; willing to let the matter lie with that but Ilriane had to go and ruin it by skirting his gaze across her body again before shifting his weight to face the giant bed. She knew what he was going to suggest before the words ever came out of his mouth. “Would you like to know what it’s like when there’s no Duty involved?”

She even considered it for a moment, they were at least familiar with each other’s bodies and she assumed that he could bring her pleasure without emotional entanglement. But they had a clean end to things now and there was no point confusing the matter. Besides, The Iron Bull had made the exact same offer and she hadn’t been interested then either. Nira had no need for mindless pleasure and no room in her life for love; look how well Cullen and Hawke’s one night stand had turned out for them.

And yet instead of the simple rejection she intended Nira found herself emulating Hawke, though imitating the charismatic Champion was likely a bad idea given that woman’s track record. Nira stood up in the tub, letting the water spill off of her and onto the floor carelessly as she got out. Her hair had grown longer in the half year and trailed down her neck like it hadn’t since puberty, and as she squeezed the water out of her hair she caught Ilriane swallowing as he watched.

Finally Nira met Ilriane’s heated gaze. “You’re not who I want.” She didn’t lie. And she made sure it did not show that she was fairly certain the one she wanted only enjoyed toying with her instead of returning her interest.

Ilriane blinked and then laughed, not seeming upset. “I’m disappointed, but not surprised. I think I could get to like this Inquisitor Nira though, you have a little bite to you now.” He complimented simply.

“A wolf always does, and I am done pretending to be anything else.” Nira lifted her chin as she said it, making eye contact. Ilriane knew the layers of history and truth her words referred to and she saw his surprise, and his respect. “Now get out so I can get on with my day.” And the First left with a slight smile.

Nira wasn’t sure and didn’t care if Leliana was still in the room as she dressed. The encounter had been nothing like Nira had expected and yet had gone exactly as desired. The First of Clan Lavellan would return to their Clan and bring word not only of Hahren Brasirotha’s Duty being fulfilled, but also tales of how Scout Nira was indubitably Inquisitor now. Nira wasn’t even sure if the feeling in her gut was anxiety or elation. She pushed the matter aside and strode out her room towards the training ring, catching a small shifting to the shadows of her room as she left. The Nightingale would have to draw her own conclusions from the scene witnessed; Nira knew already what she’d gotten from it.

\---

He knew there would be a confrontation after the amount of provocation he had provided, and yet Solas found he was not at all worried about the inevitable in this instance. With da’fen he had to accept that his control was not as absolute as it needed to be and that required that Solas reassess his approach; he couldn’t ignore his attraction to Nira and seemed unable to resist acting upon it. Fen’Harel was annoyingly smug about his capitulation on that matter; the more primal aspects of his nature had already decided that Nira was a worthy match long before the puppy had arrived to challenge his claim.

In fact, Solas had anticipated that the first to approach him would be young Ilriane and his misguided arrogance. Nira was still avoiding him so he suspected that their confrontation would occur in pieces until her ire was spent, and Solas had expected that the Hahren that had reared her would quietly wait her indignation. So it was no surprise at all when he heard the First’s voice call for his attention.

“You are not a servant for the Inquisition, though I do suspect you wish to service the Inquisitor.” The puppy’s voice didn’t sound angry or accusatory, instead he sounded oddly pleased. Solas turned to face the younger mage, eyebrow lifted in curiosity. This was not what he had been expecting.

“Hardly a matter for me to discuss with yourself.” Solas didn’t deny the allegation. “Besides if I have understood the few comments made previously, at least I am waiting on her consent.” He bit off the words, not entirely sure they were all true and despairing that they might be.

“Hardly a matter she would appreciate us discussing.” Ilriane mimicked Solas’ speech patterns and Solas knew he gave a sarcastic looking smile. “I did not come here to pick a fight however.” And the First inclined his head in a respectful manner, entirely at odds to the previous day’s performance. “I came to request that you attend to the training about to occur; due to my efforts to maintain the stasis on Brasirotha’s Taint I will be unable to perform any other magical feats should the need occur without increasing the risk to all present. As one of Nira’s friends,” the emphasis on the word was so slight Solas almost missed it but Fen’Harel did not, “I think it would help to have you present.”

And Solas frowned, hearing layers of unsaid words obscuring the First’s intents. One could not stop the Taint once infected, though the Tevinters had found a way to slow its progress. “You’re using blood magic.” Solas’ statement was simple, not a question at all but Ilriane gave a sharp head nod.

“It was the only way to give him time.” A simple statement that forced Solas to reassess the other mage; Ilriane had given up the ease of entering the Fade, had invited the constant whispering presence of demons, all so that Brasirotha would have enough time to say goodbye. So Nira would have the chance too.

“You’re in love with her.” Solas was stunned to realize.

Ilriane gave a broad grin, as if the truth wasn’t at all tragic. “As much as you are.” The accusation made Fen’Harel snarl threateningly but the First could not hear it. “I came to love and respect her but I know I don’t understand her enough and I am too tied into her painful past for it to be anything good. Don’t make the mistake I made; Nira is not dinlathelan although she has to become accustomed to being solitary. She needs people to help her but everything in her life until now has taught her that she cannot ask. Including Brasirotha and myself.”

Solas kept his response to himself, aware that they were no longer alone. “You know if the Boss hears you two are talking about her behind her back that she’ll skin you both right?” The Iron Bull’s voice rumbled out of the early morning dark.

“I have already offered Inquisitor Nira my respects this morning, nothing I say now should be a surprise to her.” Ilriane called out, startling only minimally and recovering quickly. “I am merely trying to help arrange a support system for after Brasirotha’s Duty has been completed.”

“There is a whole level of emphasis to your words that I do not like.” The spy said out loud what Solas was thinking and he gladly let the larger one talk.

“I was Nira’s First and Brasirotha was her Hahren, we have both tried to carve a place for her in our world while still obeying the will of our Keeper.” Ilriane looked to be working up to an actual argument despite his earlier insistence of being at ease.

“This the Keeper that lopped off the tips of Nira’s ears?” Bull cut off whatever else Ilriane was about to say.

Solas buried his triumphant grin when Ilriane had to force a breath out through his teeth, not used to the constant disregard for his rank. “Yes. The same Keeper that then mutilated her again years later and gave her to me to try and impregnate.” He spat in blunt honesty.

It was the first time Solas had ever heard one of the very misguided Dalish ever refer to their Vallaslin as anything other than an honor.

“You sound like a stand up fellow that I absolutely should listen to.” Bull’s sarcasm brought a smile to Solas that he didn’t bother hiding this time.

“And the tales I have heard of Qunari brainwashing and brutality are entirely fictional?” Ilriane shot back. “Interesting how the scars your people left on the Free Marches remain then is it not?”

“What is this Duty that Nira is being compelled to complete now?” Solas brought them back to the question he needed answered first. Bull was pressing for answers not to satisfy his curiosity but to report back to his Masters, a fact that Solas had to keep in mind while questioning the puppy.

“Brasirotha came to die by her hand before the Taint can take his soul.” The First spoke with utmost honesty and respect about the topic.

Solas wanted to yell at the man, demand to know what they thought they were doing by putting such a burden on da’fen’s shoulders. Didn’t anyone understand how close to the edge she was? He had chased her from the Fade with a kiss and then kissed her in the Fade and chased himself off, the Inquisition had claimed her with a sword, and now the father of her heart was asking her to kill him.

They didn’t know how little she’d truly recovered from Redcliffe, how badly Haven had broken her confidence. They didn’t know how much this would destroy the laughter Nira was only just starting to find in her life, the freedom to wonder and explore she now had. Had he known this was going to be asked of her he would have taken different actions, and a more savage part wondered if perhaps he might have chosen far more rash options had he advanced warning? He wouldn’t have kissed her in the Fade but he might have claimed her and that would have been far more dangerous for them both.

It still could be for that matter.

“Considering how quickly she’s kicked my ass I say it’s a good decision, but considering that even I know that asking someone to kill their father figure is nuts I’m left wondering what you’re thinking.” Bull broke Solas out of his musings.

“I do not expect a Hunvhen to understand, nor one that has no Clan markings.” Ilriane managed to not sound insulting at least. “It is enough to say that it is the way of the Scouts of my People. It is the last gift Brasirotha can give her.”

“Gift?” Solas demanded now, anger flashing past his restraint.

“With his death she is free.” The First’s statement was simple and revealed how well he knew Nira now despite comments to the contrary.

“That’s messed up.” Bull criticized, not at all acknowledging the fact that his Qun treated him much the same way.

“You have no problem with all the souls of dead enemies she bears, please tell me how setting one soul to peace is supposed to be the bigger burden.” Ilriane challenged while Solas tried to think faster than he had in Eons. There was nothing he could do to save the Hahren, nor did he feel all that obligated to try. But there had to be something he could do to help Nira after her father was gone. Brasirotha might not have sired Nira but he was her father for all the reasons no one would ever say.

“So the old one is here to die, you here for the same reason?” Bull demanded and Solas realized the Qunari was playing dumb to dig for information.

“Although Nira’s more than capable of it, no. You are neither Dalish nor a mage so suffice it to say that I came here out of respect. And I will leave once I have done all that I can to help in the completion of this Duty.” Ilriane was at least smart enough to not divulge secrets.

“Yesterday’s demonstrations were intended to help the Inquisitor?” Solas made it a question, seeing the younger mage flush with embarrassment.

“Yesterday has ended and I can do nothing about the past, I can only affect the steps I take forwards.” Ilriane retorted and Solas nearly laughed. If the Dalish thought that way then why did they cling so feebly to the shattered bits of their past? The First’s next words killed all desire to laugh though. “If you claim to be her friends then you need to be aware that Nira will let herself be consumed by Duty and never say a word about it. If either of you care for her at all, then I task the pair of you to ensure that she is not lost to the Duty and title she bears. Underneath the caution is a young woman that has learned very few people care for her as an individual.”

“And those few that do claim to care are still the ones tearing her apart. Your bed, Brasirotha’s death; the Inquisitor has been maneuvered since her birth and yet it’s only now that you seek to undo the damage done.” Solas knew he should muzzle the most savage aspects of himself and yet they broke free.

“With Brasirotha’s death there will be no more strings for our Keeper to pull. She will finally be free of the pain she’s endured since birth.” Ilriane was calm as he explained it but Solas knew how the other mage felt about Nira; knew how much this cost him.

“That’s why you found a way to give him time to get here. In killing Brasirotha, Nira severs the last ties to Lavellan.” And even if he wanted to hate Ilriane, Fen’Harel had to grudgingly respect Ilriane’s determination. Ilriane loved Nira, knew she would never love him back, and did the only things he could to give her the freedom and life she’d always been denied. Solas could not diminish that, no matter how much he wanted to. The puppy had integrity after all.

The Iron Bull looked between the two Elvhen men with curiosity lining his face; he might not understand all of this but he was intelligent enough to put the pieces together. “Is there nothing to call her back home once he’s dead?”

Ilriane smiled now, something bitter and dark and familiar to Solas in too many painful ways. “No, she’s already severed the tie the Clan tried to keep on her. I go home alone, unacknowledged.”

“So your claim to be the Boss’ husband had some basis in fact?” Of course that bit of gossip had gotten around; even if Solas and Varric had remained silent on it there had been too many others in the Great Hall that had seen it too. It should not have surprised that such a factoid would interest The Iron Bull.

“We never married,” Ilriane’s quick answer refuted his own statements the day before, “though neither did we seek others while sharing our bed together. With the Dalish that can have implications; though as you can guess that was less about monogamy and more about pragmatism. Nira has spent so long being the Keeper’s mistake that the Clan stopped seeing her as her own person and for all my arrogance and privilege I tried to be respectful of Nira’s emotions.”

“So why was she put in that situation at all?” Solas found himself asking despite every intention to remain silent on the matter.

Ilriane gave Solas a long, searching look before answering. “For all that you’re not a flat-ear neither are you Dalish. That may be the one thing that’ll keep you from ever understanding Nira if you decide to continue pursuing her.” The First warned simply. “The moment Nira presented as a mage her mother wanted to cast her out. Bad enough that our Clan knew of the Keeper’s shemlen blooded child, but after Nira’s magic arrived at the Arlathan all the Clans knew. One Clan nearly killed Nira then; you’ve both likely seen the scars across her body from their warning.”

“So why tell us this?” The Iron Bull demanded; an odd concern from a spy.

This time Ilriane’s smile wasn’t bitter but amused. “I came to speak to this one because I saw how he is with her. You managed to follow me out here; which implies not only ability but care. Nira wasn’t allowed to socialize but she still became a very good judge of threat. You two are likely the most dangerous of her companions and thus the two she will feel safest to make friends with. Vulnerability alarms her, including her own.” Ilriane kept claiming to not understand Nira and yet he seemed to know how to live her with far better than Solas originally expected. “She would not thank me for this interference any more than she would for all the others I’ve played in her life; let her unfortunate past lay to rest with Brasirotha, I task the two of you the Duty of seeing her future is far better.”

Solas looked at The Iron Bull even as the Qunari looked towards him in return. Ilriane was likely correct on the assumption that they were the most dangerous, but he was far off the mark if he was assuming either one of them were in a position to fulfill that Duty. The spy belonged to his Masters and Solas had his own task to accomplish after retrieving his Orb.

It was an uncomfortable reminder of why he wasn’t supposed to pursue da’fen in the first place.

 “But I did not solely come out here to depress. In fact I was inviting Hahren Solas to witness Inquisitor Nira and Hahren Brasirotha training. It will be one of the few times two Master Scouts will perform their skills in front of witnesses.” Ilriane coaxed and after their talk it was more than enough to lure both Bull and Solas after him as he turned to lead the way.

Ilriane had sought him out because the First’s use of blood magic to slow Brasirotha’s Taint meant he couldn’t perform healing magics, they precluded each other. Solas wondered if Ilriane had a weak Healing gift to begin with so that the trade-off was that easy. The First led and Solas allowed it so that he could fall into step beside the Qunari.

“I don’t trust him.” Bull managed to barely speak but even without magic Solas still heard him.

“You don’t trust anyone.” Solas countered and saw Bull watch him. “You like people easily enough, The Iron Bull, but like our Inquisitor the call home scares you. Both of you are afraid you’ll go and just as afraid that you’ll stay.” He couldn’t stop the words, Fen’Harel too agitated to relent his fierce description. “If this was one of your People, how much would you expect us to trust them?”

And in spite of the sharpness to Solas’ words Bull grinned at him. “You ain’t jealous of me Chuckles, but I can smell it on you.” He taunted, just as friendly as Solas had been. Solas had to consciously choose not to kill The Iron Bull but he seriously considered showing the Qunari what it felt like to be Hunted in his dreams. “Or is it less petty and more dangerous; is it not jealousy but territoriality?”

 “Now that would be uncivilized.” Solas murmured back; Proud that he’d held his temper in check.

No response was coming but only because they had arrived behind Ilriane at the training ground. Like every time the Inquisitor trained, there was a wide swath of watchers around the ring and none of the audience cared that Ilriane was a First. But they readily moved out of the way when Solas stepped out past Ilriane’s hesitation.

Inside the ring Nira was standing in her fighting clothes, the air filled with the whirling of her weapon. Across from her Brasirotha silently stalked in light circles while his own chain hummed through the air. Of course he’d taught her the weapon she used as if born to it. Solas saw very quickly how many traits the pair of Scouts shared, how deep a mark Brasirotha had left on Nira. Ilriane was right to worry about Nira disappearing into Duty but Solas hadn’t realized that something he’d thought to be naturally hers was a skill she’d mastered because it was _expected_ of her to. Did Nira take no actions to fulfill her own wants?

No, she had kissed him. Not because of Duty, not because it was expected of her, but because it had been what she’d wanted.

It took every bit of control to rein in Fen’Harel as he urged to forgo caution and kiss her again. He’d lied about believing the kiss in the Fade was anything less than real, he knew better than any living soul that only some things were Real. Nira felt the weight of his regard it seemed because despite the possible threat in front of her she shot a searching look out over the crowd and spotted him. Nira’s head whipped back towards Brasirotha but Solas had spent so long watching her that he could tell she flushed even over the distance.

Hahren Brasirotha had noticed her distraction but hadn’t taken immediate advantage of it. Instead he’d spied what had stolen her focus and gave a slight change of expression that Solas hesitated to call a smile. “Inquisitor Nira, I revoke the rule of no magic. Hahren Solas, would you assist in confirming that Master Nira is ready for her final Duty to Clan Lavellan?”

Solas looked towards Nira and caught her already watching him. “Inquisitor?” he wanted no association to this but neither would he back down with so many watching. So he let her decide if she wanted him to participate, at least then her anger about his presence wasn’t technically his fault.

To his surprise Nira simply beckoned him to join, no trace of her thoughts escaping. But he could feel her magic coiling, something _wicked_ planned for him no doubt. Brasirotha was a fool if he thought this would trip da’fen up at all. They’d played too much with both physical and magical volleys already for Solas to assume anything other than Nira’s readiness.

He disdained the audience’s attention, ignoring them completely once he’d entered the beaten circle. This was a bad idea and Fen’Harel giggled with excitement, a frisson of sensation shuddering down his spine. He let it spill out onto his fingertips and held it there, magic ready to strike. He preferred to use foci to channel his offensive magics, liking the additional control they offered to the vast Power he could once call. A mortal shell was no match for such things and since the Veil all Elvhen had lost their eternity.

Solas relaxed his concerns over being 'civilized' and focused on surviving this test and trial. Neither da’fen nor himself made the first strike; Brasirotha’s dart sang out. Solas snapped Barrier over himself but the attack ignored him entirely. Nira didn’t even blink, she was just suddenly gone from where the dart struck; without a whisper of magic at all and Fen’Harel Stepped to where he guessed she’d go.

Her natural speed was a marvel, and Solas wanted to watch the show even as he performed in it. Instead he found Nira a foot away from where he’d expected to find her and that half second to twist around cost him. Null Field washed over the training ring in a wave and out over the audience to splash up against the battlements where Tarasyl’an Te’las eagerly drank it up like spilled wine. Even as she stripped away Solas’ immediate weapon, he heard a harsh gasp from the puppy who’d also been affected. And the sparkle in Nira’s eyes told Solas that her seeming overkill on the field had been entirely deliberate even as she struck back at Brasirotha with her own dart.

His Barrier was gone, washed away by her Null but Fen’Harel shouldered aside the gaping numbness to pull magic to his needs again. The rope darts spun in wild dervishes that Solas’ eyes could barely track and it occurred to him that da’fen was holding back. Not just with Brasirotha, but the Companions as well. He’d Seen her speed in the Fade, when her life was on the line she broke past the expectations others set for her but until then she tended to only use as much speed as she estimated the scenario needed. It was spectacular.

By the Void it was a struggle not to give in and kiss her. He felt the press of a muzzle that could not exist this side of the Veil as Fen’Harel urged him on, as if it were the sensible option to take. To his deepest aspects he was disappointed as he instead slicked the dirt under her feet with a glassy layer of ice. Nira’s preternatural balance prevailed and she adjusted to the treacherous footing by executing her own Step. And never one to waste an opportunity, Nira apparently decided to turn a defensive retreat into an aggressive assault. As she disappeared Solas struck out with Veil Strike but he missed entirely because she went after Brasirotha first, focusing on the ‘bigger’ threat.

It stunned Solas motionless to see Nira Step out behind the older Scout and still have the foresight to react to her Hahren’s counter attack. She was never not aware of what people were doing. Brasirotha was no mage and could not feel the Powers she was using, but he knew her well enough to guess what her behaviour would be. Solas watched as Brasirotha's elbow shot back even while Nira stepped to the side and ducked her head. Instead of bashing in her nose, Nira wore it as a glancing blow across her cheek. It still succeeded in keeping her out of stabbing range.

When Brasirotha had lifted the prohibition on magic use for Nira, he’d never stated that she couldn’t use it against him; though clearly the intent was for her to use it to counter Solas. But Solas knew da’fen well enough to know that implied rules never stopped her, she was wonderfully devious that way. Veil Fire flashed in Brasirotha’s face, chasing him blindly away and Solas swore as Nira’s dart caught around his ankle without injury but pulled him flat to the ground. Even as he rolled to his feet, Barrier back guarding him, Solas couldn’t help grinning as he caught Nira by surprise; a handful of dirt flung in her face from an unexpected source. Brasirotha recovered even as Nira skittered back and Solas was almost certain he heard the Hahren Scout muttering about overly clever children.

But almost inevitably, Solas and Brasirotha looked to the other to try and coordinate a joint attack. Brasirotha shot out with deadly accuracy and this time it was Solas flaring Veil Fire into existence on the tip of a dart. Nira could not have anticipated the ease with which Solas could mimic her own fighting style, and yet he saw a satisfied grin paint da’fen’s face into beautiful lines even as she barely dodged their attack.

The rope dart came flying at Solas and he trusted her to not want to seriously hurt him; he didn’t dodge this time. Instead Solas let the dart tag him in a burning spark of pain, and collapsed down around it. He played dead so convincingly that at first Solas heard nothing but stunned silence. Quickly hands grabbed his shoulder to flip him upright and he moved faster than a snake strike. He had one of Nira’s wrists gripped into his hand while his other held a simple belt knife to her throat and Fen’Harel snarled in gleeful triumph.

And Nira stared at him for a moment, surprised by his actions but flushed despite her apparent loss. He hadn’t underestimated her, and he hadn’t fought by civilized rules; he’d fought by her rules.

“Playing Fen’Harel for me Solas?” Nira demanded softly, not angry and not aware of the irony.

If there hadn’t been dozens of people watching he would have kissed her right then. His hands nearly shook with the need to reach out to her but Solas tamed it savagely. That was not a deed for public consumption. Nira slipped from his grip, dancing away even as Brasirotha walked over.

“That was hardly fair.” The Hahren Scout tested Solas carefully as Solas regained his feet.

“According to what rules?” Solas challenged right back and saw the other man smirk in approval.

Solas was grateful he’d worn a darker coloured cloth today as it hid his blood from where the dart had connected. His shoulder throbbed but he kept the wound contained with a careful curl of ice magic. Better to let da’fen think he’d caught or deflected her blade than realize that her magic could slide through his defenses without effort. Though no doubt Ilriane could feel the Power of the wound, all the more reason to quit the field before more attention could be paid to him.

“You are ready Inquisitor.” Hahren Brasirotha stated simply and when Nira looked to her old Hahren, Solas used it as a chance to slip away before his wilder impulses could take action.

Hearing Nira call him Fen’Harel, even in jest, had been glorious and painful at the same time. A part of him wanted nothing more than to hear her call that name for all eternity; Solas had thought he was more civilized than that. But not apparently where da’fen was concerned. He broke all of his own rules because of or for her and that way lie disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Dinlathelan- sociopath, lit. one who is dead to love
> 
> Hunvhen- Qunari


	12. Alas'nira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition receives an invitation and Nira finds her footing only to have it yanked back out from under her.  
> Fen'Harel wins the fight and Solas takes strides forwards only to be thwarted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I had actively misplaced Solas' half of the chapter and had to find it. Apparently I never throw ANY notebook away, ever. Which is good until you need to find half a chapter in one notebook in a pile of 13 other identical notebooks......

Nira carefully ignored the Commander across the War Table, his arms full of a giggling baby girl and his mind not focusing on the task at hand. She wanted to bark at him and demand to know what he thought he was doing, but she held the rebuke behind her teeth. Hawke had told her that this Corypheus could take over the minds of the Wardens but her ‘friend’ was looking into it for her; if Nira wanted Hawke to play at being the liaison then she had to accept that the woman wasn’t going to take her daughter with her all the time and the logical person to stand guardian was Ruth’s father.

So she didn’t reprimand the man; Nira just didn’t want the little Hawke to puke on the war table. Once the world was saved the child could become a vomit volcano for all that Nira truly cared, but for now she did not need the smell of soured breast milk lingering in her War room. Thankfully their session ended before Nira’s concerns could be founded in action.

Not that she got to escape the role of Inquisitor simply because they had left the War Room behind. Instead Lady Montilyet kept at her side with a quietly spoken, “The emissary from Orlais is waiting to speak to you Inquisitor; the….courtier with Madam de Fer.”

Nira was heartily sick of receiving visitors. And reports. And expectations. But unless she sacrificed literal limb and fled, condemning the entire world to a Fate she could not abide, Nira had to play the Game with the messenger from Orlais. At least she wasn’t alone with the perfumed idiot; Josephine and Vivienne stood with her, though the shemlen looked past Nira to focus on the two humans only.

“My dear Vicomte du Pantoufle,” Vivienne’s tone had taken on an ever so slight edge with the Orlesian’s subtle disrespect. “This is Inquisitor Nira Lavellan, and Lady Josephine Montilyet. I am surprised that the Court could do without you with such stirrings as I have heard are occurring.” Vivienne’s excruciatingly perfect turn of phrase made all present keenly aware that this messenger was bearing some ridicule at being the one sent away during such exciting events.

“I am proud to have been personally chosen and entrusted as the right hand of our true Emperor Gaspard du Chalons.” The Vicomte had a grating nasal voice that matched their ridiculous split robes and layered skirts and gilded mask. Nothing of the Vicomte’s attire was suitable to travelling, or basic good sense, and they continued to ignore Nira entirely in favour of talking to Vivienne. “He has bid me to offer the Inquisition a chance to attend the impending Peace Talks as his honored guest.”

Creators bless Vivienne and Josephine, both women stayed silent, forcing the insolent little cretin to finally face Nira on.

“That’s quite the interesting offer Pantoufle. First Celene sleeps with her Elf and now Gaspard wants to bring one to the party.” Nira could admit at this point of time to knowing how to play the Game, and when to trust her instinct and stop playing as well.

She had learned from Fen’Harel after all.

Neither Josephine nor Vivienne gave away an iota of their distress but Pantoufle certainly did. Even with a gilded mask to hide their expression Nira saw their jaw gape wide and she heard the shocked inhalation.

“It would be a mistake to think that I have any less authority in my Inquisition than Celene does her Court or Gaspard his Chevaliers Vicomte Pantoufle. I will grant you the boon of starting your approach again.” Nira kept her tone calm, a slightly pleased smile skirting around her lips as she spoke.

Whatever threat the Vicomte detected in her was enough to compel them to bow contritely towards Nira, abasing themselves low in physical apology as they backed away ten paces without ever turning their back. Only then did Vicomte Pantoufle rise back up and approach with a solemn air, staying silent until after they bowed respectfully towards Nira. “Inquisitor Lavellan, I bring an offer of alliance from Emperor Gaspard du Chalons; please consider attending to the Winter Palace Talks as his Honoured Guest.” Their mollified tone left Nira feeling cold instead of triumphant.

She looked away from the newly respectful Vicomte, away from where Josephine and Vivienne stared at her with appalled dismay and soft astonishment, and caught Solas once again watching her from the edges. The acoustics of the Hall ensured that even across the distance he had heard the exchange, and he made no attempt to avoid her notice now. In fact once he had her temporary attention Solas wasted no time to lift his hands in silent applause and Nira focused back on the unwanted bother actively in front of her.

“Thank you Vicomte.” Nira would play at mouthing kinder words now that no one bothered believing but would work to keep the Game they all salivated over going. “I am sure the Inquisition and the Empire of Orlais will find peace and calm in the face of the world’s current peril. Please share any needs you might have with Ambassador Montilyet, and allow Madam de Fer to receive all the news you might have to impart.”

She knew she should stay and work the angles necessary but Nira made her escape instead, leaving behind the Main Hall entirely and escaping to the only slightly less claustrophobic gardens. She couldn’t run away from her own Inquisition, even if the current feeling of being suffocated by walls wanted her to start running and never stop. It wasn’t the fault of Tarasyl’an Te’las, Skyhold was as perfect a home as she could ask any fortified Keep to be; Nira had just never been accustomed to living inside, constantly surrounded by….everything. No escape, no real privacy. No quiet sounds of the wind through the trees while birds babbled overhead. And no future any time soon where those facts would change. And once the future did change….even then Nira knew that she could never go back to the way life had been before. She was so much more now than she had ever thought possible, had been too changed. Nira was Lavellan in name only anymore, now she was something else as well. Being Inquisitor was a burden to her but at the same time, it had taught her that she could not accept the place her past had wanted to put her in. She could not escape being Inquisitor because even if it was a Duty, it was also a part of her now. She had to shape the future and herself with it, without ever knowing if what she was doing was right. Nira could only Hope; that was a terrifying thought indeed.

There was no way the Inquisition would turn down the invitation; this was exactly the kind of alliance Josephine kept pushing for. And Nira could remember the broken warning in Leliana’s voice in the future she’d escaped, that Celene’s murder and the destabilization of Orlais lets Corypheus march his demon army across the world without effort.

So Nira, late of Clan Lavellan and unwanted half breed, was going to Halamshiral; once jewel to her people and now a despot of shemlen opulence. She wouldn’t want to be there, they wouldn’t want her there, and if she failed at her tasks the whole world would fall to a Tevinter Forgotten One. Enough had already died due to Corypheus’ madness. The world had already suffered and Nira continued to endure the proof of his rot; a Spiritual festering that somehow his Red Templars did not fear.

With a quiet determination to conquer even the human Court if necessary, Nira knew she had a lot of long days preparing to face The Winter Palace ahead of her. As a Scout she’d spent days trekking into the dangers to find a safe way ahead; this was only a different type of environment she had to learn. There were no jaguars or varterral, though shemlen in majestic finery were no less treacherous than their brethren in armour and skins, and Nira would not be slipping between the shadows of a forest or the rocky crags of a mountain, but the marbled halls where her ancestors had made their last stand; and Fallen.

Many would love nothing more than to see Nira of Clan Lavellan fall now too. How little they all understood what she would do to prove them wrong.

She was already being forced to participate in the downfall of a Hahren she respected, a Duty that weighted on her heart more than her shoulders. Even while she prepared for Halamshiral Nira could not for a moment forget about the last act she owed to anyone; the one time Nira wanted to fight Duty the most was the one time she knew she could not. Not with Brasirotha’s soul at stake. Nira would have to speak with Ilriane to determine if Brasirotha would endure while she attended to Halamshiral first, though the back of her mind was whispering warnings that she did not have the Time. And a part of her understood Alexius all too well suddenly. Her Hahren was far sicker and closer to death than his relatively hearty exterior revealed; when she’d fought with him it had been astonishing to realize how diminished her Hahren already was. He lived through Ilriane’s interference and his own defiance alone; the sickness had sapped away so much of his speed and strength already. Nira Lavellan knew she’d be standing in Halamshiral with the blood of her Hahren on her hands, one of the many in attendance to be soaked in the blood of her People.

“Inquisitor,” Solas was suddenly standing close, the whisper of Step the only warning she’d had of his arrival. He looked actually concerned for a moment and Nira realized that she had been ignoring the world around her in favour of worrying inside her own head; a terrible habit for a Scout to develop. “I was hoping to have a moment of your time later.” He requested respectfully.

His body language was polite and almost uncertain, leaving Nira to wonder if he was mocking her for her earlier display of dominance in the Main Hall. She tried to look him in the eye to determine his game but found him looking submissively down.

“You may have a moment of my time now.” She challenged, ready to force his gaze if he ever looked up.

“I do believe Lady Montilyet was looking for you da’fen; by your leave I can see you after the duties of today are settled.” His oddly formal language was aggravating when combined with the familiar name he’d given her.

It was at least confirmation that his overly diffident manners were a form of teasing now. She fought to keep the exasperated but amused laugh inside her guts. “The Duties of the Inquisitor are never finished Solas, but I will find you once I have the time to spare today.” Maybe she would actually start to understand what it was Solas actually wanted from her.

“I await the pleasure of your time.” His deliberate word choice matched the flick of his eyes upwards, trying to assess her reaction.

And damn him to the Void, her flush at his words was all the reaction he needed. “Depending on the topic you wish to discuss Solas this may be far less pleasurable than you’d ever desire.” She decided to turn the tables on him, play along with this ridiculous linguistic volley.

“You are absolutely correct in that Inquisitor.” He agreed with a serious tone. No longer teasing then, which was alarming in its own way.

“To business then Solas.” Nira stepped past him without further ado; she would rather deal with Josephine and her incessant Courtly ways than deal with how confused Solas always left her feeling.

Or admitting how hard it was to look him in the eye and not stare at his lips.

\--

He’d asked her to see him and still a part of him felt like anxiously pacing. He didn’t but Fen’Harel shifted in sympathy inside the bounds of his mind. So much so that her sudden arrival actually surprised him; he was so used to feeling the bond between them now that he forgot to pay attention to it.

“Inquisitor, I…” there was a loud crash from above, a fight in the library echoing loudly into his rotunda.

They both looked upwards, her with clear irritation while Solas just felt dismayed. He needed to concentrate on the matter at hand and with these idiots bickering that wouldn’t happen. “Come.” Nira simply commanded and led him away from the combative sounds filling his space.

The Main Hall was packed with people at this time of the evening, dinners and carousing on most minds despite the repairs still being performed around them, and Nira led him past it all and towards the semi quiet stairs leading to her room.

He couldn’t help the swallow as his darker aspect suddenly started to pay a lot of attention. Nira walked up the stairs ahead of him, feet utterly silent on the stone and he couldn’t peel his eyes off of her well-formed backside to verify that Nira hadn’t found a way to fly. The way she’d felt under his hands in the Fade, during their training, had tormented him only slightly less than how Fen’Harel had tested his control after Nira had teasingly called him by Name.

Her bedroom was too tempting; a bed, a couch, the desk, or even the fireplace carpet all offering too many potential ideas and Solas stalked out past them to the safer space of the balcony. Cold fresh air could only help, his hands were sweaty and he needed to focus.

“What were you like,” his question felt frantic and he wondered if it was as obvious to her, “before the Anchor?”

Da’fen leaned on the railing facing outwards and he sat back against it. His question had her silently examining the gloved palm she’d offered the Dread Wolf in the Fade so long ago and her lack of verbal response left him uneasy.

“Has it affect you, changed you in any way?” the way her eyes snapped up to his told him it had. “Your mind? Your morals; spirit?” he kept the disappointment out of his voice, Nira had felt so special.

But her head shook no to his questions. “This.” She held the Anchor out and peeled the constant leather glove away.

He didn’t understand at first, her palm looked no different than it had when he first examined it. And then she started to pull the long sleeved tunic she wore away to reveal that the pulsing green of her Mark chased all the way up her left arm, across her shoulders and down her right. She dropped her shirt, uncaring of her exposed skin in the cold air as Solas traced his eyes to where the red of her original Vallaslin streaked back into existence. Her throat would expose the alteration soon, the green had already dominated her torso and reached past the concealing line of her pants, though her toes were still carmine. Her skin was otherwise unaltered and even with the Anchor changing her Vallaslin, it gave off no Power.

“I am still myself Solas.” Her answer didn’t entirely satisfy him because he was still unsure, but he didn’t press when she pulled her shirt on again. “Why?” her question was inevitable and he had no good answer to give.

He looked out at the Keep that was now hers, the very soul of Skyhold resonating with her claimed Power. “You show a wisdom I have not seen since…” he had to censor himself quickly, “since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade.” He could see her looking up at him and believing him.

Despite her careful nature, natural caution, and hard earned paranoia, despite his own blunders da’fen had still come to trust him. “You are not what I expected.” He hadn’t realized that he’d stepped closer until he realized he was too close for a casual conversation; his body continually betrayed him.

“What have I done that is so surprising?” her tone has the dangerous edge she had left behind in Haven and he realized that his actions after the kiss had hurt her more than she displayed.

“You have shown subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected.” And he tried to correct some of the damage done, “If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours, have I misjudged them?”

Her eyes were guarded as she studied him and yet he still saw the uncertainty she tried to hide. “Most of the Dalish care more about impressing the other hunters with a good shot or talking about how awful humans are; there are only a few that seem to care about the Old ways. My spirit does not come from them Solas, it comes from me alone.”

“Perhaps that is it; I suppose it must be.” Solas wondered if she’d stop surprising him someday, often lately he suspected the answer to that was no. “Most people act with so little understanding of the world, but not you.”

“So what does this mean Solas?” her question felt like it had layers he could be buried by. He’d given in to his desire once before and had hurt her as a result when he’d then acted to protect them both, there would be no more chances after this.

So he decided to be honest, to a degree. “It means that I have not forgotten that kiss.” His answer made her eyes go wide, she had clearly not expected him to bring it up again.

“Even though you said it wasn’t right, real or in the Fade?” her question revealed the insecurity he’d inadvertently reinforced with his carelessness. Nira stepped close into his personal space, confrontational, and Solas had to hold tight to Fen’Harel.

Her hands were carefully tucked behind her back, gloves still off, and she was only a few inches away. He could lean down to kiss her again. But Solas knew he should go; it would be kinder in the long run for them both. The thought of losing her, even now, left both parts of his soul howling. Ilriane had been right in his commentary; Solas was in love with her. It was all he could do not to give in and close the distance between them as he had in the Fade, his determination to spare them both waning every single time he thought of her.

The Void take his caution; Solas lifted his hand to her cheek, leaning down to kiss her when there was a frantic knocking at her chamber door.

Nira’s eyes snapped open at the sound, seeming startled at her own actions as she stepped quickly away to answer the pounding. Inside his head Fen’Harel screamed at him to chase her down and Solas had to force his feet to halt as he crossed into her room again.

“It’s time, his body cannot hold out against the Taint. His mind will start to go before too much longer.” Solas heard Ilriane’s weary voice, needing no explanation of who they were talking about.

It was time for Nira to face her Duty and sever the last tie to her Clan.

He walked closer, knowing that Ilriane would draw his own conclusions upon seeing Solas inside Nira’s bedchamber. He didn’t care; he would not let Nira think she was facing this Duty alone, even though not five minutes ago he’d contemplated staying away from her. He was an idiot in love and he knew that this would break Nira’s heart even if she never said so.

“I’m with you Nira, if you need me there.” Solas rested a hand on her shoulder and felt the tension of her body even though her face looked calm.

She finally looked away from Ilriane and up to him. “Please.” And that one word broke his own heart, and the last of his ability to stay away from her.

This could only end in disaster. Fen’Harel considered that a delightful turn of events but Solas was more cautious, concerned. And yet he still followed after Nira as she walked towards her Duty.


	13. Nydhia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nira has to face the reality of Brasirotha's Duty and the consequences it brings.  
> Solas and Fen'Harel are in accord for once; neither one knows what to do now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short-ish chapter, sorry about that but it felt appropriate considering the...content  
> Also, I am currently SUPER medicated for a cold so if this chapter has some weird errors, blame the codeine.

When Nira was younger, back in the days before her Vallaslin and magic had corrupted things, she’d learned to Scout by trying to shadow Brasirotha. She often learned more from simply watching than she could have by being told, and Brasirotha did not make it easy on her even though she was still rather young. One such day, as he Scouted the way through a gorge, the spring rains hit suddenly and hard. What had been a dry creek bed quickly washed water down the trail they’d been following, and he moved up the rough grips and holds the protruding rocks gave him. His steps were steady, body controlled and precise as momentum hopped him like a stone skipped across still waters. Little Nira had scrambled after him, faster than she kept expecting to be after her latest growth spurt, and never quite trusting that her feet were going to go where she wanted them to.

So she hesitated at the wrong time. The momentum she’d built up to keep her going now worked against her; combined with the rain and mud slicking everything it was almost inevitable that Nira fell. She twisted at a strange angle, trying to get her feet under her body as the wild cats do, but slammed down too quickly.

For a heartbeat in the air Nira had felt like she’d keep flying; up and off the face of the world, escaping the pain she knew was coming. For that suspended moment she could feel the pelt of rain against her shorn scalp, eyes blurry but still she’d been so sure Brasirotha had looked back. And then her guts lurched as the flight ended; she slammed down with her ribs connecting to the rock she’d been meant to land on and no sound escaped as her skull followed suit a moment later.

Stars burst across her vision, bright and blurry and comforting because everything else was disconnected and spikey feeling. Nira hadn’t felt her body slide into the growing creek, she was already under the water before she had even processed that she’d finished her fall. It wasn’t deep but it didn’t have to be with how her body felt, heavy and outside of her control. Nira’s brain was waiting for the pain to hit while her body drowned and there was nothing she could do about it.

Viera, one of the Scouts a few years older than Nira was, would later tell her that Brasirotha had walked back into the Scout camp covered in mud and scratches, drenched and carrying Nira. She only remembered waking to the searing pain of a broken rib, the fuddled confusion of a nasty concussion, and the quiet conversation Brasirotha had had with her once she was awake enough to listen.

“You fell because you hesitated.” he’d stated simply, not giving her the opportunity to think of a better way to explain herself. “If you are going to commit to an action, you need to fully commit to it and even in the midst of completing it you must trust yourself to see it through to the end. You failed yourself today because you did not trust yourself; your head will make the decisions and your feet will follow, your heart cannot take over the control once you start.”

She’d learned a lot from the fall, though at the time she’d felt humiliated and disappointed too much to realize all that the experience would teach her. Her body was her tool to use as must as the dart on her rope or the brain in her head. Her head had to remain clear even when she was afraid, and she could not hesitate despite the fear. Her heart would lead her astray, emotions unreliable in the face of her rational plans. Nira had learned that once she started an action she would follow through on it no matter the fear in her guts, because the cost of hesitating could be so much worse.

And finally, little Nira had taken a lesson that day she was only just realizing now as an adult, walking to where Brasirotha was waiting for her to end his suffering. Her mother had given her to Hahren Brasirotha because he had always been solitary by nature; it was an easy step to assume that he would have no difficulties raising a child to be a Scout without getting attached to her on a more personal level because he had always eschewed the notions of family or familial connections. Brasirotha had lived to serve the Clan. And that day he hadn’t hesitated at all to abandon his Duty to ensure that Nira lived. The head might make the plans and the body might be the tool used to accomplish those tasks, but it was the heart that truly drove a person; even when they wished otherwise.

He didn’t look ready to die.

Or maybe it was that Nira wasn’t ready for him to die.

It didn’t matter, Nira knew it was time to say goodbye and let him finally rest. Her heart wailed at the idea but her head knew it to be true and so her feet completed the journey. Brasirotha stood waiting for her, outside the Keep that was now her home. Ilriane and Solas stayed behind her now, giving her the illusion of privacy even if there was never a reality for it.

“Scout of Clan Lavellan, you are given one final Duty by your Hahren. Will you accept?” Brasirotha asked, not bothering to acknowledge the witnesses.

He was expecting her to stand in place and solemnly accept the Duty. He was expecting her to be the extension of his will and training as she always had been; him the mind that planned the actions and she the strike that saw them through. He was expecting Scout Nira of Lavellan to be obedient in this final act.

He was not expecting Nira to continue towards him, curiosity glittering in the dying light of his eyes as he watched her approach.

“I will not let the Taint take your soul to the Void. And I will not let Time take your memory from me. May you find rest, Babae.” Nira’s heart spoke through her lips, bypassing her brain entirely and she saw the effect it had on her Hahren immediately.

His face was haggard and pasty despite his usual dark skin tones, the black lines of corruption shadowing the veins that should only carry life through him. And still Brasirotha smiled as if he could not be more satisfied with the situation. “Solea’ar ma, Ashalan.”

And before anyone around her could react, and as the tears she’d tried to hold back fell, Nira struck out quickly. The knife he’d given her so long ago had been lost at the fall of Haven, and Nira did not have a physical version of the knife Fen’Harel had offered her; this was a simple heavy dart that Nira had yet to attach to a rope or chain. The finely sharpened silverite dart hit exactly where Nira intended it to, sinking in between the space of his ribs and burying itself into his heart.

Brasirotha was dead before he hit the ground.

Nira stood still, feeling her body sway ever so slightly from her own heartbeat. The wind whispered past her ears, gentle murmurs that meant nothing at all and soothed the wet tracks on her face. The night air was cold, the sky dark while the stars glimmered, and Nira stared at where the man that had raised her lay dead.

She wanted to turn away and act like seeing him dead meant nothing to her, but her feet betrayed her. She walked closer to his corpse and knelt down, gently setting Brasirotha onto his back and folding his hands over his stomach. She closed his eyes and wondered how long until the heat left his body entirely and she could believe he really was dead. The silverite dart Nira left buried into his chest because she never wanted to touch it again, and finally she looked over her shoulder to her witnesses.

 “Dragonthorn.” her voice was raspy but firm.

Usually when one of the Clan died, they were buried with a seed so that a tree may grow over their grave and the fallen one remembered. But Brasirotha was not a simple man who had earned a simple tree. He deserved the honor of Dragonthorn marking his place, making his last resting place stand out. After all Dragonthorn wood was prized for its strength, while the leaves were equally valuable as their extract enhances and stabilizes other, more volatile magical compounds. That was exactly what he had done for Nira her entire life. There was no better marker for the soul of Hahren Brasirotha, Head Scout of Clan Lavellan. It was the final gift she could give him now that he was at peace.

“It’ll be done.” Ilriane agreed without argument, face carefully blank but eyes glistening.

Nira didn’t wipe the tear tracks from her face, knowing there was no point and not caring for once if the vulnerability would be exploited. She felt cold and quiet, and so much like she wanted to be anywhere else that a distant part of her wondered how she didn’t just Step away.

“Da’fen,” Solas snapped her attention to him with a single word, unexpected and unpredictable as always.

Once he had her attention he said nothing more, Solas simply stepped to her and Brasirotha’s body. She followed him with her eyes, rooted to the ground as he picked up Brasirotha as if the elder Elvhen man had weighed nothing at all. Solas carried him over to Ilriane and carefully passed the fallen Scout over. As he did so he had a few quiet words with the First that Nira didn’t try and listen for.

The night felt too quiet and there was a scream building in Nira that she could not let out. Not yet, not here.

“I will see that he is returned to the Clan, and buried with Dragonthorn marking his place.” Ilriane confirmed finally, encumbered by Brasirotha’s corpse and looking utterly overwhelmed at the prospect of returning to the Clan with one of their Hahren’s dead. “You’ll see where we laid him to rest when you return to the Clan, I promise.”

“No.” Nira denied, tears done and voice steady. Ilriane frowned at her denial, opening his mouth likely to argue about how he would follow through on what he said he would do. “I will not be returning to the Clan. Nira of Clan Lavellan is laid to rest with Brasirotha; I am not her anymore.”

Solas and Ilriane watched her carefully now, one astonished while the other was wary. “As you wish; Inquisitor Nira of Skyhold.” Ilriane finally spoke, head bowed with respect.

“Goodbye Ilriane. May the Creators smile upon you and your burden as you return to your Clan.” Nira forced herself to say, fighting against the urge to walk off into the mountains and disappear entirely.

She knew the First would take the time to wrap Brasirotha’s body, the ritual as much to protect the living as it was respecting the dead. In the morning he would depart, escorted by Inquisition soldiers that would help the Clan eliminate the bandits pestering them. She would give them that last farewell, protection and assistance as they mourned their lost Hahren.

“Goodbye Nira. I hope you find what it is you need to be happy. And…I’ll miss you.” Ilriane surprised her with the admission.

Numbly she moved past her old First and Hahren, feet taking her back into the Keep that she’d claimed and had claimed her in return. Her heart gladly gave up control to her head, letting logic dictate what steps she had to take before the scream inside made its way out. Solas remained silent as he walked with her and despite her desire to isolate away from the world she didn’t chase him away as her feet padded across stone and upstairs. No words were spoken as she lead them on an endless climb upwards, every step a struggle and a triumph until she was back in the opulent bedroom gifted to her as Inquisitor.

She stood still in the middle of the room, eyes scanning over everything but not really seeing any of it. When Solas carefully rested a hand on her shoulder, she was still mostly numb. Nira just turned to look at him and let Solas wrap her into a hug she wasn’t sure she knew what to do with.

Nira wanted to go home. But that place didn’t exist anymore.

The scream building in her chest quieted, escaping her not with sound but through the tears she didn’t want to fall but did anyways. Solas held her and said nothing, letting Nira grieve for the man that had been her father in every way but blood.

\---

He hadn’t realized how tiny she was until she wasn’t a monolith of astonishing acts surprising him at every turn. Watching her approach Brasirotha had only driven home how petite Nira truly was, even though she was taller than most Dalish women. Small of stature or not, it took Nira less than an eye blink to bury a silverite dart into her Hahren’s heart and inside his soul Fen’Harel sat unsettled.

Not because of how fast she had completed the task, but because he could feel the pain of it echoing through their bond.

He wanted nothing more than to offer her comfort, an anchor to cling to as the emotions washed over her and yet Solas knew Nira wouldn’t accept it. So he remained reserved, desperate to wipe the tears from her cheek and yet instead lifting the body to take it to Ilriane so that Nira would not have to.

“I’ve never seen her cry before.” Ilriane breathed as Solas handed him the corpse Scout.

“I hope to never see it again.” Solas whispered back, unable to remain silent.

“Don’t let her close off after this, don’t let her shut you out and stay alone.” The First begged; the ego that had gotten him in trouble initially nowhere to be found now. Solas could almost respect the man for it.

He didn’t have an answer to give Ilriane though; they both knew that Nira was not the kind of woman to easily accept the fact that she needed people. “She will have whatever support I can offer.” It was the best he could promise, and more than he should have anyways.

He fell back into silence as Nira informed Ilriane that she was severing her ties to the Clan officially, not surprised because they all had already realized it was coming. He remained silent as Nira walked back into Skyhold, his pace matched to hers as she led them through the Main Hall and up the stairs towards her rooms. A part of him wondered if she even realized he was still with her, Nira was the type to chase others away so her emotions could be experienced in private and yet she didn’t do so now.

Solas felt the pain ripple through their bond before Nira froze in the center of her room, eyes staring sightlessly around. He couldn’t help reaching out to her, hand gentle on her shoulder and bringing her eyes to his. Any other day and Nira would have chased him away but now she clung to him as he hugged her tightly, and he felt the damp on his shirt from her tears.

There was no fight as he led them to her rather extravagant bed and settled them onto it, arm still curled around her as she wept. Nira’s sobs were mostly silent, her pain wracked expression twisting daggers into Solas’ heart as he knew the tears were for more than just the loss of Brasirotha. Nira was grieving all the things she had lost or never had at all and was only just realizing she had deserved.; a childhood, a family, a Clan. His own experiences of belonging were so long ago as to be almost forgotten and yet Solas knew he could not truly understand her pain; he could only offer the comfort of his presence.

So he held her until the silent tears stopped and her harsh breathing settled. He held her when the grip she’d fisted into his shirt loosened and her muscles slumped into grieve driven exhaustion. And he held her even as he settled in and loosened his hold on Fen’Harel, knowing that there was no better protector for her in the Fade.

Fen’Harel did not have to hunt for her in the Fade.

Nira sat in a Fadescape of her own mind, a meadow filled with Crystal Grace and Royal Elfroot, waiting for him. He was impressed that she wasn’t surrounded by snow this time, expecting devastation in response to her grief. Instead she deliberately chose brightness and life, beauty to count the quiet pain.

He padded closer to her and sat down, his giant body and fur incongruous to the scene and yet belonging because she expected him there.

“I killed someone I loved today,” she surprised him by speaking. “I could have chosen not to. Could have let another take the Duty but out of love I killed him.”

He looked down at her, the many eyes of his current form seeing through the different layers of the Fade in a way no mortal ever could. He could see the fluctuation of energy from her emotions; love, guilt, despair, recrimination, a trace of hope, and a quiet sense of purpose. He could see the lines on her face where exhaustion and emotion had etched their passage, and another set of eyes could see the memory of tears staining her cheeks.

“My history teaches that you betrayed those that loved you, locked away the Creators and the Forgotten Ones both. Now I am left wondering if there is more to the tale.” She looked out at the meadow, not seeming to care that his giant Wolf form could easy consume her if she offended him. “If the people of my Inquisition knew I had killed Brasirotha, many would not understand. To them I would be a murderer and betrayer both. So I have to ask, Fen’Harel; did you truly betray them by locking them away, or was it an act of love that no one understood?”

Fen’Harel had once chased Nira from the Fade with a carefully timed kiss. Now Nira almost chased Fen’Harel out of the Fade with a too painful question that he wasn’t sure of the answer to.

“You would believe my answer?” he rumbled, curious and doubting.

“I would hear your answer, I don’t know if I’ll believe it.” At least she was honest.

“If I had not done it, there would be no world left to live in.” he summarized Epochs of history into a simple phrase, aching to tell her the entire truth and knowing that he could not burden her with it.

She didn’t reply, giving no indication on her opinion to his confession. At least not until he saw her slide the sylvanwood ring all Dalish mages wore off her smallest finger and drop it into the grass beside her.

A part of him worried; she had given up her Hahren and her Clan and now she was giving up her beliefs, at least in part. But Fen’Harel caught no scent of Despair and was softly astonished to realize the strength of the woman he had fallen for. He would not doubt it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Elvhen  
> Babae- father  
> Solea’ar ma, Ashalan- I am proud of you, daughter. (I had to make this phrase myself using Solas for Pride, ea to make it to be prideful/proud, and the rules say I am something is shown as ‘ar after the verb)


	14. Atish’anathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'Harel faces a reality he wasn't expecting and yet is eager for while Nira reels from the turn of events that has taken a hold of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sorry for the LONG delay in posting. I went back and rewrote this chapter entirely once, then had to start a new job AGAIN, and last night my family dog was put down. It has been a VERY long road getting here. So if you spot any gross inconsistencies or obvious errors let me know, I had very little energy left to edit this sucker again.
> 
> 2\. smut, enjoy

Considering how infrequently Nira seemed to sleep, it was no surprise Solas found himself alone in Her bed when he awoke. Grief driven exhaustion could only hold so much power over Her and even with his lifetime of paranoid caution Her escape hadn’t roused him at all. The sound of sloshing water, however, did.

He felt loose limbed and disjointed, as if none of his parts fit as proportionately as he expected them to; Fen’Harel was too close to the surface but Solas lacked the motivation to quell him further. Not when he spied the discarded Sylvanwood ring Nira had left behind in the waking world even if She did not truly understand who had guarded both Her sleeping body and vagrant soul.

The colours of sunrise were fascinating to Fen’Harel, the waking world containing so much less than the Fade and yet the limited existence offered to his eyes held beauty in it anyways. The air held the still quality of all early mornings in Tarasyl’an Te’las, potential and sleeping magic and the sense that the Keep was holding its breath; waiting to see what wonders were going to be discovered. Even the colours spilling through the open balcony curtains seemed to conspire to bemuse him with their silvery motes dancing in the soft blush of light. He felt very much the Wolf in his Den, the sound of water sloshing a musical back note that lazily drew his satisfied attention.

He fed a sliver of magic into the crackling fire, feeling it twirl and cavort into the flames to keep it burning long past the length of the available fuel. There were several containers set around it, bubbling and steaming and deliberate as Nira carefully took a ready kettle to a rather marvellous bath. Her movements were precise and careful, simple but graceful as She carefully handled each container and he loved the chance to simply hold still and watch his da’fen.

Her eyes were still bloodshot, strain and grief etched into the lines around Her mouth and the slope of Her shoulders. And Fen’Harel alone could See the fire of determination in Her still burning like an unquenchable ember despite all She’d endured. Either She’d felt his curl of magic or the weight of his observation because Nira flicked Her eyes up from Her task to catch his, and Fen’Harel offered a toothy smile back to the challenge in Her stare.

Like most Wild things da’fen did not use words to communicate unless required; still Fen’Harel could hear Her silent request. She was in desperate need of a distraction and the Dread Wolf could never resist the call to Play. Her ritual of filling the bath, each movement precise and barely containing the immensity of all She held within, warned of Her desperate search for something to draw the poison of pain from Her veins. He could do nothing to help with Her grief but he could at least help da’fen accomplish the task of staying distracted from it.

His eyes left Hers, looking down Her hand to see that She had eschewed the gloves that had disguised Her Vallaslin’s transformation. Whereas Solas would have carefully crafted a plan on how to come towards Her now, Fen’Harel merely rolled from the bed to approach Her, nearly euphoric at the sensation of freedom pulsing from his heart to his fingertips.

Nira watched him with the same wary contemplation he’d seen Her give his much larger form in the Fade though he did not see recognition in Her gaze. Regardless, his grin did not falter. He was no threat to Her here or in the Fade, and he was going to thoroughly enjoy revealing that to Her. The hunter’s stalk took forwards, each step bringing him closer to his quarry and She watched him, a decision to be made. And to da’fen’s very obvious surprise, when he stepped up next to Her he did not lay so much as even a finger upon Her.

Instead he paused close to Her, the air from his breath stirring the little hairs against Her neck before finally moving past Her to grab some of the steaming water. He could hear Her take a breath, words held behind Her guard without being uttered but the weight of Her focus still a caress against his back. As he turned back She looked away, likely not wanting to confirm that he had Her attention without saying a thing at all. They had played different games in the Fade using traps and glyphs and magic, but the effect was the same; feints and half moves, no plans beyond the first moments because ever after they had to react and evolve around each other’s actions and adaptations.

He did not touch Her and She did not speak; he crowded Her personal space and watched Her eyes for what Her lips would not say. She kept Her stare away from his but he caught Her looking to the wolf bone hanging against his chest and biting Her lip to remain silent. Fen’Harel and Solas could not agree about whether they hoped She would question him on it, or were grateful that She wasn’t the type to. It was not surprising because Fen’Harel and Solas could not perfectly agree on much of anything despite being the same soul.

They continued to fill the tub in expectation laden silence, no magic used now despite Fen’Harel knowing he could fill and heat the bath with a bare gesture. If She had wanted it the easy way She would have called for servants to fill it. Instead he merely repeated the motions of taking water from the rain barrel to heat, then taking the hot water to the bath to fill it. And if Fen’Harel had timed his actions to keep himself in Her space and peripheral, da’fen never chased him away for it. She had no idea how much Willpower it took to remain silent and close and not touching; mortal fingertips sensitive in a way the Fade never allowed for and he wanted the memory of every aspect of da’fen to haunt him for eternity.

She was also too distracted by his presence to focus on the pain Her heart carried that had weighed Her down so sadly while he slumbered.

With the bath full he almost gave in to the painful need to touch Her, teeth gritted and knuckles white to hold himself in place. He wanted to abandon restraint and see how She would react now that fleeing a kiss wasn’t an option; he wanted hold himself back so that any step She took towards him were of Her own volition.

Now he was the one desperate for a distraction, some new task to complete that would let him stay close to Her but keep him from being able to hold Her even closer. The bath was filled, water uncomfortably hot but not unbearable, and even though he was all but howling with the need to take action Fen’Harel forced himself to instead reach for a bottle of bath oil. It felt like liquid silk as he tested it on his fingers, no trace of magic but instead most perfect alchemy.

This time when he looked to da’fen She allowed him to catch Her gaze. Now he chose to mimic her by not speaking, asking the question with lifted brow and a head tilt, and waited for Her to acquiesce before adding some of the oil to the bathwater. It was scentless, not the cloying or sickly sweet stench many mortals felt the need to baste themselves in and Fen’Harel nearly dropped the entire bottle when as he poured da’fen elected to disrobe entirely.

It was not the maneuver he had been expecting, which may have been Her motivation for choosing it. Nudity was not necessarily sexual and he would not make the mistake of assuming that here it was, so instead of looking at her exposed skin with desire Fen’Harel allowed himself only to track the verdant changes to Her Vallaslin. In a single night the emerald hue had claimed another inch. The streaks at Her throat where the red bled into the green still were beautifully horrendous; alluring and repelling because even if he had wanted Her marked with his Power it was happening outside of his control. She had had no choice on the matter.

When he looked from Her transforming Vallaslin back to Her eyes, Fen’Harel finally decided to break Her pose of silence. “Are you going to tell me you are fine?” he challenged of Her, a smirk on his lips.

He nearly missed seeing an identical smile on Her lips as She climbed into Her bath. The smile helped ease the silence as he waited. “Would you believe my answer?” Her question echoed his own from the Fade and he had to fight every urge to reply with: ‘I would hear your answer, I do not know if I will believe it’.

“You are many things da’fen; astonishing, unpredictable and gaelathe. If you say that you are fine, I believe you.” He surprised himself with his honesty, and Her as well. He needed to leave before he did something regretful, pushed where he was not wanted.

He turned to leave, the Wolf chased away once again, only for Her to stop him with a softly spoken “Stay.”

“That is a very dangerous request Inquisitor.” He had to warn, knowing that he had no Willpower left to stay away on his own.

“Because you might leave anyways?” da’fen’s guard was ready to protect Her should that be his answer.

Both aspects of his soul were in agreement about very few things; needing to be at Her side for as long as he could was one of them. “Because I want nothing more even though I know this is calamity waiting to happen.”

She remained silent, contemplative while he barely breathed; hoping. Her eyes blinked slowly, no smile or expression to tell him Her decision escaping Her control at all. “Stay.” She repeated her request.

He surprised Her when he climbed into the tub with Her, careless of the heat of the water or how it would ruin his clothes. He bracketed Her body with his own, leaned in close until barely a hair separated their lips to say, “Last chance to tell me to go.”

The pain it caused him to offer was true agony. When She chose to kiss him instead She sealed both their Fates.

Fen’Harel kissed his da’fen like a connoisseur drinks his favourite wine; each greedy roll of lips and swipe of tongue was deliberate, chasing the perfect taste. A sip of water might refresh and hydrate but a proper glass of wine could sooth the soul and She was no mere taste of water; Nira had all the robust excitement he could ever want.

Her hands pulled at his necklace cord as She had in the Fade, and he lowered himself to Her gladly. As before Her clever mouth drew guttural sounds from his own and his hands dragged fingertips stiffly into the muscles along Her spine to make Her squirm. There were notches of scars tissue, swipes and scrapes that had taught and tormented no doubt. And She stole a ragged gasp from him when She summoned a Spirit Blade to Her bare hand and cut his shirts open to expedite removing them. It was absolutely exhilarating to feel the hair raising energy of the very sharp quasi-corporeal blade as it cut by his skin without making him bleed. The difference an expert hand can make; he bore enough scars already.

Nira scraped her nails down his arms, the sting soothed by the oil infused bath water and he was glad to see the signs of strain gone from around Her eyes; though Fen’Harel could still See traces of it lingering so he knew it was only temporarily set aside and not forgotten. His goal was only to delay its return for as long as possible.

Kissing Her was like swimming in the ocean; it could absolutely consume him if he wasn’t cautious and yet he still found himself enticed by Her tides. Nira abandoned Her grip on his arms and surprised him by attacking the belt at his waist, this time without a Spirit Blade in hand.  The groan She drew from him, hands deliberate in their firm caresses against his turgid cock, was almost embarrassingly needy sounding and for once Fen’Harel didn’t care that he was all but begging. Solas only cared insofar as Nira’s reaction to the sound was encouraging. Her teeth raked at his bottom lip and Her hands peeled his sodden trousers a couple of inches down his backside impatiently. His palm smoothed along Her skull until he could properly fist a grip in Her hair.

Now it was Nira’s turn to snarl; half warning, half arousal. The bathtub was certainly not the boudoir he wanted at this time, his body caging Hers an awkward akimbo of limbs now that rational thought had left. But neither could he pull away.

Apparently having a similar train of thought, Nira wiggled Her legs free from his knees and clung to him like choking vine so he couldn’t run. He had no intention of letting caution or concern pull him away this time so he wrapped his arms under Her, supporting while he stood up in the bath, and nearly killed them both when the bath oil turned his footing treacherous. Instead of disaster, he Stepped them from the bath entirely, relocating to the stone floor with only a minimal stumble.

Questing toes sought out the edge of the warming rug he’d spied near the fire and he gratefully sank to his knees to lay Nira back upon it. It was a shame to let Her go but it was only to finally discard his unwanted trousers.

He did not anticipate the attack disrobing allowed da’fen to spring upon him. She’d been laying back on the bear rug, one of the many claimed from the numerous beasts in the Hinterlands, and watching him as he shucked the soaking pants. He’d expected Her to allow him the minimal time needed to discard them; She did not.

Nira waited until his attention was focused elsewhere and then did something utterly unanticipated; She curled Spell Might around them both. The sudden rush of magical energy thrumming through him was like a tidal wave and neither Fen’Harel nor Solas had the ability to do anything but pant through the almost too intense sensation that burned through him. The playfully challenging smile on Her face warned that She knew exactly what She was doing to him with this, but She was not prepared for his counter move.

It wasn’t Veil Strike, but it was so close as to be indiscernible to most mages. He grabbed the magical energy coursing through him, all but burning through his mana reserve in the process, and funneled it all back to Nira. Her eyes went wide, Her back arched with the influx of nearly lightning like energy, and yet not a single sound could escape Her lips. His own smirked, his body curled over to brush lips ever so reverently to Hers, tasting the power and chaos swirling inside Her even as it petered out.

“If you truly want to play with Fen’Harel da’fen, you need to be prepared for Fen’Harel to play back.” He warned without malice.

She responded by flaring a Spell Wisp to life right in his face, and he jerked his head back with a surprised grumble. His whole body followed the movement as She decided to continue this latest stage of their Playing. She shoved him backwards as he jerked away, following with a full body twist and lunge that seemed almost impossible for a creature with a spine to achieve, so that She ended up on top. And he ended up with his bare backside against the stone floor, not giving a damn about the discomfort at all because She was in his arms again, kissing him.

The energy still crackling just under Her skin arched to his own but he didn’t care, gladly taking the taste of frantic mana alongside Her lips. He quickly forgot about how uncomfortable and cold the floor was against his back, hands eagerly and greedy in their chance to explore Her body. Tending to Her as a make-do healer, assisting Her as a companion, even teaching Her as a Hahren; none of those matched up at all to how it felt to hold Her as he wanted to.

Above him Nira pressed and clung, ensuring that he was given no quarter or space to retreat to away from Her demanding mouth. She had reason to fear his inconsistency, he had proven to be rather flighty in the past though now he would rather sever his own arm than release Her now. So he didn’t offer Her any resistance at all as She took the lead, more than willing to assure his da’fen that he planned to stay.

Of course, he never intended to remain entirely passive either, a rime of frost tickled and tracked anywhere his hands failed to reach and his hands certainly managed to explore. Lacking the elemental control necessary to retaliate with either fire or ice Nira focused on the physical assault he couldn’t defend himself from. Lips and teeth trailed from his own, down to attack the softer skin at his throat even as Her hands possessively tracked wherever She wanted them to across his body. She seemed as fascinated by the scars trailing his own body as he had been by Hers; he lacked the overt branding She wore but still had stories etched into his skin. A History that could not be forgotten no matter how dearly he sometimes wished it could be.

Her teeth scraped at the edge of his collarbone and without consciously thinking about it he rolled them over so he could have his turn exploring. There was no crackle of Power even when he brought his lips to trace the Vallaslin staining Her skin, though there was a sense of power when he ran his tongue over the lines tracing Her breast and Her breath stuttered out in response. It had nothing to do with mana and everything to do with da’fen. She tasted like magic and Power and perfection and it was all uniquely Nira. There were old claw marks marring the top of Her thigh, ragged and rigid and deep. Fen’Harel could almost taste the old blood and pain and vengeance when he pressed a kiss to it; She had taken Her own blood debt from whatever had left the scar cluster. Above him Nira watched, wild eyed and panting as he left the scars of Her leg to focus on a more intimate target.

Her eyes fluttered closed at the first swipe of his tongue and he settled between Her legs. She writhed at every little caress and suckle, overly sensitive and wonderfully responsive. He tried to gentle his fervour, wanting to map out every stroke that built the masterpiece of Her ecstasy, but She had other plans. Again She gripped the chord of his necklace and pulled it, dragging him up Her body to bite kisses at his lips.

He had Her knees curled over his elbows, the necklace he wore gripped so tight in Her fists that he had to control his instincts and She stole the very breath from his lips as he finally sank into Her. He sucked the soft sound of pleasure She made right from Her tongue and pressed in, slow but inexorable. He was not Wild and savage despite rumours claiming such, his thrusts and shifts slow and steady, pushing in deeps and leaving them both shuddering.

Nira let one fist release its death grip on his chord and let him breathe easier even as Her sharp little fingernails scored lines into his back. Her need was a painfully efficient motivation and yet this was not the time for rushing to the end; their positioning held Her open to him and he took absolute advantage of that to keep his rhythm consistent. His da’fen made throaty sounds of pleasure and frustration, never loud but demanding all the same. When She bit his lip in a plaintive snarl he laughed and finally increased his pace.

She left Her assault of his mouth so he turned his attention to the sensitive skin of Her neck, behind the turn of muscle. Even as he pressed his advantage the wet rush of her pleasure was a glorious torture to resist giving in to. But even his careful control was shattered when She once again unleashed Mana Burst through them both. Power churned and arced through him, raw and wild and exhilarating to match the pleasure of Her body wrapped around him. Her nails tore lines of stinging pleasure and Nira moaned as he slammed needy thrusts into Her, harsh and sloppy and growling his need into Her skin. Her body pulsed and shook, Her eyes squeezed tight as Her orgasm flooded through Her and he could focus on nothing beyond the need in his body chasing after until he buried his shout of ecstasy into her shoulder.

They were locked together, panting and gasping after their frantic coupling, and he pressed gentle kisses around the almost predatory bite he’d left. The pleasure echoing in his system forbade him from feeling guilt for causing even momentary pain to his da’fen, too much of his instincts were simply satisfied to have deliberately left a mark on her. He unhooked his arms, settling Her legs down to ease the angle on Her hips and felt Her loosen the fused grip around his chord finally. Nira kept his body caged with Her own and he stayed close, neither one seeming too eager to leave their intimate entanglement.

His back and shoulder stung, lines of smoldering pain where Her nails had torn through skin and he cherished the pain. As proud to have Her mark him as he had been to mark Her in return. And maybe he was a sentimental old fool because thought escaped mouth and before he could stop himself he’d blurted out, “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

He wanted to take it back as soon as he’d spoken; it was too painfully true and he didn’t want to burden Her with his love. And yet She didn’t seem repelled by his admission, merely surprised. It was heartbreaking to realize that She had never expected to hear someone say that phrase to Her and Fen’Harel was determined to find a way to make his da’fen forget the hurt and rejection her Clan had forced upon her. Nira didn’t respond with a similar sentiment, She kissed him instead of saying words She wasn’t ready to say and he respected that even if it hurt. At least She hadn’t rejected him utterly despite his ill-timed confession.

It was no struggle to settle Fen’Harel into more rigid mental confinement now, and as they unwound themselves physically Solas took the chance to reinforce the barriers that had held so firmly until today. As he spied the shape of the mark he’d left in his passion it was a struggle to keep his face blank; Fen’Harel’s form had not been able to corporealize on this side of the Veil and yet those were no mere mortal teeth impressed into Her skin. The only saving grace was that none within Skyhold had the ability to See the entirety of the mark to realize that. He had not worn his grander form in a physical reality in so long, he hadn’t been able to, but da’fen broke all of the standard rules.

She surprised him when she finally spoke, “Will I see you again tonight?”, as if he could stay away.

“Yes, if you want me.” His answer was simple and quick, genuine. He was rewarded with one of Her beautiful smiles, a soft upturn at the corner of Her mouth and he couldn’t resist a little teasing. “My next task, though, is to figure out how to go about my duties for the day without first walking through the Main Hall looking absolutely well fucked.”

As expected his words brought a flash of surprise to Her eyes and a blush to Her cheeks. “I expect you are more than capable of Stepping to your quarters from here. But a part of me wants you to make that walk all the same.”

Her answer was rewarded with a toothy grin, “Want to demonstrate your conquest for all the world to see? Quite the exhibitionist.”

“They call me the Herald of their Andraste and treat me like a holy object instead of a living being. Maybe I think my Inquisition needs a little reminder that I am a mortal, flesh and blood and desire. Maybe I think I need the reminder sometimes too.” Her counter was serious and yet it wasn’t dismissive.

“With me, at least, you do not need to fear that I see anything but who you are.” He tried to comfort.

“And who is it that you see?” Nira immediately challenged back, bright and beautiful with confidence.

“A tricky Scout that loves fiercely but quietly, a mage that understands Duty and an Inquisitor that respects responsibility, but most importantly I see a young woman named Nira that I want to do nothing more than make smile as often as I can for as long as I can because the world has not been kind or gentle and despite all of that you are.” His truths kept pouring out of him, love a more damning motivator than any honesty serum could be. It was quiet the vulnerable position to be in, literally and metaphorically naked before Her.

He had given Her a little distance as they cleaned up, wanting nothing more than to crowd close and keep touching but wanting to show some limited restraint, and She closed that distance now. Her eyes skated over his body, from the visible scratches She had left in passion, to the bruising line Her grip and bestowed through his chord, and finally up to where his eyes waited for Hers. “I make mistakes, hesitate too long and lose time that I cannot afford to lose.” He knew She was referencing Brasirotha and all the things they had never spoken of to each other.

“And I try my best to save the People I care for and yet that made everything so much worse.” He countered, honest but vague to protect them both.

“So we see each other then.” Nira confirmed with a little nod. “I…am not good with words to express, you may need to watch for the way I tell you the things I cannot say.”

Now he used gentle fingertips to lift Her chin slightly, ensuring he had Her complete attention and She had his. “I will enjoy the watching da’fen.” He promised and bent his head to kiss Her even as She lifted onto her toes for the same.

With Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, clothed body pressed tight to his still bared one, it was quite the tableau for Dorian to walk in on. “I can fault you for your choice in lover, though I do commend the fact that at least this attire is preferable to his usual choice of clothing.”

Solas noticed the flash of surprise in Nira’s eyes as She stepped back, the glance She shot him as if to assure herself that he was staying put and not at all ashamed to have been found in this position, with Her. So he did nothing to cover up or hide, a smirk on his face hiding his opinion of the irksome Tevinter.

“People in paper houses should not throw fireballs Dorian, or are we still pretending you don’t spend an inordinate amount of time trying to rile up the Qunari you keep sighing over?” Solas shot back with an arched eyebrow.

To his surprise Dorian laughed, not at all offended. “As long as you keep our Inquisitor happy I won’t be throwing those fireballs at you, you break her heart though and you’ll have that and much worse to worry about.

Nira seemed to be increasingly annoyed with the bend of the conversation so Solas simply gave a shrug but remained silent. He lifted a hand to gently touch her cheek, “I am yours if you need to call on me da’fen.” He hated to say it in front of a witness but cared more that She heard him than that the Tevinter did too.

“I will see you tonight.” She agreed to his absolute delight and he used the very last of the mana left in him to Step to his rooms without another word.

\----

Her night and morning had not gone in the sequence she had anticipated at all. Brasirotha’s death had been inevitable and yet she still ached for it, had not been truly prepared for it. A part of her regretting telling Ilriane that she was not of the Clan anymore; to be Clanless to the Dalish was akin to not existing at all, and yet she knew it had been the right thing to do. She could not go back even if she had ever wanted to, the world had changed her far too much to allow her back to the confines of who she had been allowed to be to Lavellan.

She was Nira of Skyhold now, Inquisitor to some and lover to one, and apparently rather later to a meeting she’d been trying to arrange.

“Although I can appreciate the delay,” Dorian and his wonderful moustache did not know how to shut up or when it would be prudent to and Nira was grateful for it, “I must say that this turn of events was surprising.”

“Do you truly disapprove so greatly in my choice of lover?” she didn’t care if he did, Nira was more than aware of the personality clashes amongst her Companions by now.

“Oh no darling, I am happy as long as you’re happy and judging by the scene I walked in on you are at least very happy until the afterglow fades off. I am just amused that he had the guts to actually approach you with his feelings. That one seems to revel in keeping his cards close to this chest.” Dorian waved it all off as if it were no matter. Despite being the one actively giving her grief about it, apparently this was a normal form of affection giving in Tevinter.

A slight flush burned on her skin as Nira recalled the chest in question; Solas had been far more scarred and muscular than a scholarly mage normally ought to be. “You intruded on my room for a reason Dorian, let us get to the task I’ve already made us late for.”

So he curled her arm through his own, courtly now as he led them from her room and out to the Main Hall. Dorian gossiped lightly as they walked, nothing consequential or important, and they left the few mostly renovated rooms behind to seek lower in the castle. In a lower ballroom Dorian had already collected a handful of instrumentalists, bored looking and impatiently waiting, and Nira felt almost nervous as he led her towards them.

“We shall start with a simple waltz, the foundation footwork for even the most rigorous of dances in the Game.” Dorian turned drill instructor immediately and Nira pushed all lingering thought of Solas or Brasirotha from her mind to focus on learning how to dance.

It was easier learning how to butcher and prepare her own deer meat. At least a corpse didn’t _complain_ so much! Over the next two hours Dorian criticized her posture, her timing, her sense of musical rhythm, and even how she managed to walk without tripping over herself. But by the end of it, he had at least hammered the exact steps required to complete the waltz without embarrassing herself or the Inquisition.

“Enough, more than this and we will undo all the good work achieved this morning.” Dorian finally declared.

“Good, I need to talk to the Boss.” The Iron Bull’s voice boomed out, startling the mage but Nira had seen her Qunari enter.

“Hmmph, well my dear I leave you to far less pleasant tasks.” Dorian turned a farewell to her into the playfully insulting style of flirtation he and the Qunari were using and Nira managed not to roll her eyes too obviously.

“Thank you Dorian, I will see you again tomorrow for more of this…training.” She even smiled.

“I’ve seen you tear down enemies larger than even a building with perfect grace and timing, we will find a way to transmute those skills into these ones my friend, have no fear.” He encouraged and left without another word.

She was vastly amused to spy Bull watching Dorian leave, his one good eye tracking the mage for more than just threat assessment. Apparently Solas had not been far off in his commentary earlier. “What did you need me for Bull?”

Her question pulled his focus onto her and a split second later he shot her a look that was a little too assessing. “Heard that Ilriane left this morning with a well wrapped corpse to take back to your Clan.” How bluntly he stated the facts was a slap of pain and yet helped make it all real.

“Brasirotha has passed beyond reach of the Taint, my Duty to the Clan is done.” She stated calmly, not divulging anything more.

With the way Bull watched her though, Nira suspected that _someone_ had told Bull about the entirety of her Duty, but she could not think of who would have done so. Solas had a rather ironclad alibi, and Nira had not figured Ilriane for one to discuss Dalish things with non-Dalish. Brasirotha might have, it wasn’t like Nira could confront him afterall, but she couldn’t figure out why he would have told the Qunari about such a private matter.

“How are you handling it?” his directness at least affirmed that he knew enough.

“I remember his lessons, I am his legacy. I endure.” It was the only honest answer she had available to give.

“You ever need to get really drunk and not think about it, you let me know. I’m a much better companion for that than the Dwarf is.” Bull offered with a light jest at Varric’s expense.

Nira actually considered it too, she’d thrown away so much time with Brasirotha and regretted it bitterly now. Her anger at his betrayal was understandable, but now that she was aware of more than she had been she wished she could go back and steal those moments, those memories. And she couldn’t, she could only learn from the lesson, like always.

“I’m not in the mood for a drink Bull, but if you’ve got the time I could use the friend.” She finally answered.

He nodded as if he’d expected no other answer than this. “Sounds good, I’ll give you a proper introduction to the rest of the Chargers.”

He turned to lead her out to his people and Nira had a moment where she didn’t have to guard her expression. She and Solas were still wildly new and unexpected; his emotions even more so. Brasirotha was gone and her past finally laid to rest with the Clan she has finally let go of. Nira had asked Solas who he saw when he looked at her, and she knew who the others saw when they sought out their Inquisitor. But now Nira was curious to discover who she would see; the Scout with a quietly sad past or the Inquisitor with the unsettled future? Or someone else entirely?

For now Nira was satisfied to realize that whoever she was going to be next, the only one calling the shots in her life now was her. It wasn’t much and yet it meant everything; the last gift Brasirotha could ever truly give her. The chance to make herself and her life her own. Even if she had to survive being the Inquisitor first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translate:  
> Atish’anathe- Place of Peace (I created from atish’an= peaceful place and -athe =suf. Creates nouns from other nouns, adverbs or adjectives meaning the physical manifestation of, or the people/places/things embodying the idea.)  
> Gaelathe- perfect  
> Ar lath ma, vhenan- I love you, my heart


	15. Eirethalin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best laid plans never last beyond their first encounter, a fact Nira really should try to keep in mind when she takes calculated risks.  
> Solas discovers that new romance can bring as many problems as it does pleasures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had next to no editing done on it, sorry! My brain has decided that I desperately need to write but is not necessarily giving me the sequence in ORDER. 
> 
> BUT, we are almost at the Winter Palace :D

The Inquisition was about to descend on the Winter Palace like a storm cloud but there truly was no rest for the wicked; on the road to Orlais Nira’s Advisors received word that the village of Sahrnia in Emprise du Lion had more answers about the Venatori and their Red Lyrium. Leliana had already heard of disturbing rumours about the area, but it seemed to be far more than the usual unrest of an area in civil war. Nira needed to assure herself that this much Venatori activity within Orlais’ borders didn’t mean that Celene was secretly in on it. Even with the failed future from Redcliff warning that Celene was to be a victim that didn’t mean she hadn’t put herself in the position to be sacrificed.

It was only a few days off the main group’s travel destination so Nira encouraged the rest onwards, determined that her little surgical strike team would catch up long before the Inquisition met with Gaspard. Of course whom she wanted to take with her spurred multiple arguments with multiple persons and Nira lamented that she couldn’t simply slip away to assess the issue alone. But everyone liked the idea of her travelling even with an unbalanced team over the idea of her travelling utterly alone, so Nira headed out with Dorian, Vivienne and Sera like she’d originally intended.

Not that this was her favourite collaboration; Dorian was charming in most instances but often fell into arrogant one-upmanship with Vivienne, which inevitably spurred Sera into bouts of aggressively childish and outrageous behaviours as she tried to ‘be the little guy bringing the big guys down’. And a team with no real Warriors was verging on dangerously light in attack power, but Nira wasn’t planning on engaging in any protracted fights. Her goal was to get in, assess the rumours about slavers and quarries, and then get out to meet up with her main force again. She didn’t need Warriors if everything went to plan, and even knowing how unlikely it would be for things to go to plan Nira had to keep her team as the one selected. Annoying commentary, irritating immaturity, and incessant snobbery were not enough to cancel out the fact that Nira needed their skills. Dorian was still hammering the dance steps into her muscle memory, Vivienne was reviewing the last of the Courtly Games she needed to prepare for, and Sera knew the seedier belly of Orlais in a way none of the rest ever could.

Nira’s first and only trip to Orlais had ended with the Templars declaring mutiny from the Chantry and a whole crowd of people spitting in her general direction, needless to say she was hoping to have a far better experience this time. Whether this was a better visit or not, Nira wanted to be ready and that meant enduring these three even if she would prefer a different combination of Companions.

Two Mages, a Scout, and an Archer did not cut the most imposing figures even mounted, but what they lacked in overall size they made up for in speed. They all but flew across the countryside, splitting off from the main body of the Inquisition even as Nira fought not to look back; her Halla was fleet of foot while the horses of the others thundered behind. The sooner she finished this task the sooner she would return to face the next obstacle. Though it did feel obscenely good to be on the move again, the constant press of stone walls wearying after a while, she felt a strange sense of fondness for Skyhold all the same.

While the Inquisition was travelling towards The Winter Palace, Nira and her team were camping in an all but abandoned homestead. It would have been entirely abandoned except that no one had found a way to convince rats to leave without simply burning down what little shelter was left. At least it wasn’t spiders; Nira had had a very bad encounter with a collapsed cave, giant spiders, and a broken arm that had left her more than a little uncomfortable anywhere near an arachnid. A pitch black cave could also give her the collywobbles but Nira had gotten over that mostly, and considering that her hand routinely gave off light now it wasn’t a situation that would happen again.

She layered and laced Glyphs and Runes around their campsite, using Repulsion and Paralysis extensively so that Dorian could layer the more lethal ones in his own manner and Vivienne took command of the elemental defences. They’d still leave a watch on throughout the night, but this way at least Nira would have a couple of hours for practice. Even if it meant a couple of hours to practice in which she had both Vivienne and Sera as spectators.

“Try to at least look pleasantly amused by all this darling,” Vivienne called out, “right now even the most unskilled in the Game can read your discomfort.”

“I’m a Scout Madam de Fer, I can count on one hand the amount of times I have ever been called upon to dance.” Nira managed to say without snarling. She was practicing dancing but that did not mean she couldn’t also practice the Game.

“Unless you count wha’ you’n Elfy get up to eh?” Sera taunted with a cackle.

It had taken approximately half a day after Nira and Solas were intimate for basically all of Skyhold to know about it, and all because Nira had left Solas’ clothes scattered around her bedroom and the shemlen servants gossiped like weavers. Nira was frankly surprised to realize she was relieved more than annoyed; she valued her privacy, especially while dealing with something as untested as a romantic relationship, and yet she didn’t want to feel like a dirty secret. But being relieved to not have to sneak around did not mean she was actually aware of how to act with everyone curious about it; in the Clan her situation with Ilriane was known and seen as Duty, this was her personal choice and it felt strange to have others so invested in it.

“Considering the sight I witnessed I’d say it was less dancing and closer to grappling.” Where Sera’s remark had failed to illicit a reaction, Dorian’s succeeded in making Nira flush slightly.

Ilriane had not been an insufficient or inconsiderate lover but she had had no desire to give in return. Solas frequently bore multiple indications of Nira’s newly roused passion. He seemed to enjoy the process as much as Nira did so she wasn’t ashamed, she was just utterly unused to this type of…comradery. Thankfully she didn’t have to come up with a rejoinder.

“Hm.” Vivienne hummed disapprovingly, “news of an Elven lover will do you no favours at Court my dear.” Nira had learned to listen past the tone of voice for the message behind the words; Vivienne was warning her.

“Pbthth!” Surprisingly Sera interrupted with a rude noise, “like they was ever going to like sommat like Inky? The scars on her ears ain’t foolin’ no one.”

The archer’s typical tactless honesty wasn’t offensive by this point, so Nira gave an amused smile. “It’s not like our visit to the Winter Palace is for my own sake; regardless of how the Court views me we are going there to stabilize Orlais. Whom I decide to fuck in my own time is really rather inconsequential compared to trying to save the world.” Her bluntness managed to even surprise Sera into silence, for a moment at least.

“Does he call out Elvhen Glory when ya do it?” the obnoxious blonde finally ventured into offensive territory.

Nira’s best bet was to ignore the comment entirely, the same way she ignored Sera’s attempts to ‘prank her’. “Since there is little we can do to stop news of my relationship with Solas from affecting my reputation, all we can do it adjust for it,” somehow despite the topic at hand Nira had managed to continue to dance with Dorian, the Tevinter looking absolutely thrilled to be the silent party to this conversation. “Sera wasn’t wrong in saying that my status as a Dalish Elf will be held against me no matter how prettily I dance or well I play the Game.”

“Which,” Dorian seemed to read Nira’s growing impatience and interrupted, “is why we’re doing all of this. They will have expectations for a barbaric, uncouth Dalish. No one will be prepared to handle you as you truly are.”

The flattery was a nice attempt and at least made her laugh softly. “I am everything they fear. I am a mage, a Dalish mage no less, and lethal enough even without mana that the Avvar respect me. I will not play coy and demure to ease their minds either.” Now it was Nira’s turn to warn, knowing that everyone was still expecting her to be something she wasn’t. She had stood defiant in the face of Corypheus in the flesh and Fen’Harel in the Fade; she would do no less here.

“Why not aim to be utterly offensive then and put golden caps on to replace your missing ear tips darling?” Vivienne’s question was meant to be a little bit snide, instead it was a damn good suggestion.

Nira had already vetoed the identical uniform they had wanted her to wear, she was not a soldier and would not dress like one especially if it meant wearing the emblem that the Chantry used so heavily. Because she wasn’t wearing the standard attire the Advisors were likewise being coerced into unique clothes; gold capped ears would definitely send the message that Nira was aware of shemlen bigotry, and actively flouted it.

Vivienne was much better at reading micro expressions than most, and she read the consideration off of Nira’s face like it was a banner screaming her intent; the Mage Enchanter sighed. “At least allow me the chance to style your hair and makeup into something more appropriate than the mud and sweat you’re currently donning my dear.”

“Yes,” Dorian agreed with a joking tone, “we don’t want any of these backwards Orlesians to see all that mud and think you’re a Dwarf after all.”

Sera whooped, wrapping her arms over her belly and rolling backwards as she laughed. “Yeah, stand her next to Varric and they’re twins!”

“Twins might be pushing it,” Even Vivienne seemed amused by the mental image, “but you’ve certainly become as proficient a dancer as our Author claims to be.”

The compliment made Nira blink, unexpected. She looked at Dorian and he gave her a brilliantly handsome smile, spun her about once more and then ended their practice with a bow. “Domna, tua pulchre exultant lusibus.”

“Yah yah, blather blather. My turn!” Sera threw herself bodily at Nira before Dorian could translate his commentary.

Nira had an armful of wiggling Archer and it was only an ever so slight step up from the one time Hawke put her child into Nira’s arms. Sera wouldn’t puke on her but Ruth Hawke had never tried to put lizards in her bedroll either.

It was the last fun Nira had before rejoining the Inquisition on the outskirts of Halamshiral.

Sahrnia was more depressing than the Crossroads had been. The town itself wasn’t technically standing anymore so much as it was resentfully existing where it used to stand. The river had frozen solid, according to the few left the lucky people got out before that happened, and all that was left now were Red Templars and angry wyverns.

From all the records gathered, Sahrnia’s granite quarry had been in financial trouble for over a year and yet no one was prepared for the town to be _this_ downtrodden. Nira was accustomed to seeing the destitution wretched weather could leave a Clan enduring but the problems faced here were inflicted upon the townspeople and it bothered her to see how many were suffering without any trace of hope. Mistress Poulin seemed at her wits end to help the people remaining, her admitted guilt over selling the Templar’s her family’s quarry tempered by the fact that she had been unaware of their true affiliations and intentions. The supposed lifesaving sale turned disastrous quickly; they’ve been taking the people for weeks, starting with the usual quarry workers but always coming back for more people regardless of their skill set. Mistress Poulin was certainly in no position to stop them from doing so, and even Nira’s current team was too lightly balanced to keep them away. But she would come back with the right kind of reinforcements the moment Orlais was settled. 

As if the Red Templars weren’t enough of a problem, Nira’s palm crackled and throbbed with the pain of a nearby Rift even before they finished a brief sweep of the town. These people were already being picked off by the Red Templars and hungry wyverns, and now they had to deal with roaming demons too; Nira could not and would not let things stand that way.

Even if her strike team was supposed to be avoiding conflict at all costs not a single one of them uttered an argument when Nira informed them that they were at least dealing with the Rift right outside of town before they met up with the Inquisition.

Nira’s toes curled when they first walked out onto the iced over river, her feet were more than able to withstand even this chill but that did not make the experience any more pleasant. Next to her Vivienne strode as if her high heeled boots were ice picks that ensured her balance, but Dorian and Sera seemed to have a harder time adjusting to the nearly frictionless surface. Dorian was moving stiffly and carefully but Sera was on her ass every sixth step almost.

It was amusing right up until Nira tried to close the Rift and a Despair demon lanced an ice shard into her thigh for it. The wound burned with cold and her blood dripped hotly in response to it and she snarled while her rope dart shot out. The Despair demon flung itself away, the wail it made as it escaped at least allowing Sera to track its trajectory, and even from her ass on the ice she managed to sink an arrow into its skull. But there were several more just waiting to take its place and the Rift kept fluctuating as if something much bigger and more terrible was trying to punch its way through.

Nira listened for the twang of Sera’s bow, the crisp snapping of Dorian’s lightening and the roaring crackle of Vivienne’s fire, dancing her rope and dart in and out of the other attacks. Her Barrier was enough to keep the worst of the attacks at bay, but left the others unprotected and Nira now understood the value of a shield even if she didn’t prefer one for herself. Even lacking a Warrior though, the Despair demons fell, were felled, or fled to the Fade and Nira tried to force the Rift closed. Even as she tried the massively terribly thing on the other side finally succeeded in pushing itself through and the sensation of holding a Rift as it opened further was likely akin to having the nerves of her body flayed out, folded up, and then dunked into the frozen river below.

A hearty, horrible laugh warned that Pride was striding the ice towards her, and even as Nira’s vision went splotchy from the failed attempt to close the Rift, she pulled on it through the Anchor, letting the pain burn through her if it meant closing the damn thing before even more fell through. She’d seen enough bloody footprints in the snow to last a lifetime.

Sera was on her ass again, scrambling and slipping in her haste to try and retreat, the Pride stomping towards her without any difficulty. As annoying as the blonde could be, Nira wasn’t going to allow the Pride to crush her underfoot and let go of the Rift to whip her rope dart out. Her dart connected to the lightening whip the Pride had called to hand and suddenly Nira was laying on the ice, blinking and trying to hear anything past her heartbeat and the tinny ringing in her head. Her body felt strange, as if it wasn’t real and this was all just a distant dream she had to wake up from. And then sound and sensation snapped back and Nira gasped through agony, curling into a ball as her body desperately tried to bleed out the lightening through the ice beneath her.

She allowed herself a heartbeat more before she completed the movement onto her feet, pain not gone but accepted and ignored. Her rope dart was still crackling and so she left it discarded, bloodied hand extended towards the Rift and pulling, her anger helping slam it shut.

The Pride staggered, dropping to its knees as its source of power was cut off and now the tide turned. Even without a Warrior Nira’s Companions tore the Pride apart. Dorian’s Tevene curses littered the air almost as thickly as Sera’s arrows did, and Vivienne seemed to enjoy freezing the Pride to the ice only to roast its face with fire. And Nira stood back, able to cast Barrier on the one most at risk only if she kept herself from being that person. Her blood dripped onto the ice with a slowing patter and stopped before the Pride imploded into smoke.

“Yeah, there’s no way we’re not getting yelled at for tha’.” Sera broke the silence as they all panted and caught their breath in the suddenly quiet air.

“Worse things could happen.” Nira shrugged and kept the pain off of her face when that hurt more than it should have.

“I don’t know darling,” Dorian sounded forcibly casual as he looked her over, “they do say that the only thing that matches blood is gold, so I hope your dress lives up to expectations.” Ok maybe it was as bad as Sera’s original comment suggested.

“I’m not dead, and if anyone has discovered a way to close Rifts that doesn’t involve me getting close enough to get bloodied than I’m all ears. Otherwise they’ll have to adjust.” Her voice was flat and uncaring but Nira was actually starting to really hurt now that adrenaline was wearing off.

To be fair she still had a shard of ice jabbed into her thigh and every time she spit to clear her mouth more blood came out, so it wasn’t like her companions were wrong. But she wasn’t the only one injured either, Sera’s left arm hung limp and awkward and Dorian had worn a backhand all over his gorgeous self. Only Vivienne had come out of the battle looking like she’d never been in one.

“I don’t know who’s going to yell louder, Josephine or Solas.” Dorian warned and fell quiet.

“Shut up and help me bandage this.” Nira finally snapped, gesturing at her leg. Unfortunately Nira knew that neither Josephine nor Solas would yell louder; they both expressed their displeasure in quiet ways that were somehow worse.

\--

“So you and the Boss eh?” Solas had known that some of his compatriots would question him about it, and had even narrowed the likely culprits down. The Iron Bull had been second on his list, Varric first.

“It is not a matter open for discussion.” Solas wanted to shut this down quickly, knowing that someone like The Iron Bull would certainly have his unfair share to say about it. Sola’ Pride was still smarting from the ill-timed ‘ar lath ma’ that wasn’t returned.

“That’s cute.” Bull like always ignored his obvious displeasure and sat down next to him by the fire.

They were on their second day after the Inquisitor and her strike team had left, and Solas was not enjoying the sensation of worrying over his da’fen. It was not made better by the fact that the bond between them had only been strengthened by their lovemaking, and he could now tell she was discomforted and in pain. Something had gone wrong and he was not there to tend to it, left behind so that she could ‘prevail upon the knowledge of her chosen team’.

“You’ve looked like someone slipped laxative into your last lyrium potion all day today, up for discussion or not but your face is saying a lot.” The Qunari finally grumbled out at him after a long, silent minute.

Varric seemed to instinctively know what the topic was, the Dwarf settling on his own seat and offering a bottle of something hideous smelling. “It sucks being the ones left behind.” He commiserated easily.

Solas frowned, wanting to tell both of them in no uncertain terms that their meddling was not welcome, and yet it oddly was. He finally shot his hand out and took the bottle, seeing a surprised look on Varric’s face for a moment. His first sip started triumphantly but sadly scent matched taste and he nearly spat the rest of the horrible concoction out.

Bull clapped a giant hand against his back as he coughed, throat burning as if he’d taken a drink of blacksmith vapors. “Abyssal Peach.” The Qunari identified the horrendous liquor from scent alone and sounded like it was an old friend.

“It was one of the few that we have excessive amounts of.” Varric explained as Solas defiantly took another sip.

He missed Arlathan for more than nostalgia’s sake; good drink had gone the way of immortality it seemed. “I think there is a reason there was excessive amounts of it, but there’s no accounting for taste from someone that routinely wanders around with half his shirt open. Or the other that just doesn’t wear shirts at all.”

He offered Bull the bottle at the same time as the dig and the Qunari laughed as if he expected both. “When your chest looks this good, why hide it?” he shrugged it off easily, then turned sly. “Shoulda figured with how she turned me down that she already had her eyes set on someone.” He offered a generalized statement that still made Solas freeze on the spot.

He remembered when Bull had propositioned Nira; it was hard not to since he’d done it in front of a whole gathered crowd after sparring with her and her Veil Fire. Solas had been too agitated at the time to do more than numbly bear witness as Nira had said that Bull was ‘too intimidating’ for her to consider as paramour. At the time he’d thought she’d been throwing heart-eyes at the Commander but now Solas was far more confident that her attentions had been where he wanted them. Considering that he had fading bruises from her passion still on his body, he truly need not have worried.

His Pride still smarted at being left behind though. When Varric passed the bottle back around he didn’t even hesitate to partake. “To be fair though Tiny, you’re three for three on failure to bed someone you’re after.” Varric just as easily pestered the Qunari as Solas at least.

“Heh,” Bull laughed as if he had failed nothing at all, “so you did notice that little incident in the Rest.”

“Hawke’s not subtle; when you called her over for a face to face I noticed. Just didn’t need to do anything about it.” Varric had redirected the Qunari’s attention and Solas realized the Dwarf was trying to help him out. It still felt strange to have allies amongst da’fen’s people.

“Didn’t need to, or didn’t want to get Curly involved in it?” Bull countered and Solas gladly let the talkative duo redirect the conversation. Not only was it edifying, it allowed him the chance to focus on his bond to Nira and the Power interwoven into her very being now.

It was like constantly hearing the instrumentalists playing a song but never being able to find the room they were playing in; he could tell the general direction it was coming from, and how far away he was from it, and yet Solas was never entirely certain if he could tell exactly where Nira was. He was still too concerned with the sensation of her pain and discomfort.

They were just supposed to check in with Sahrnia and verify reports of Red Templars, da’fen was a skillful enough to ensure that a task like that wouldn’t require combat. And yet somehow three mages and an archer had done exactly that; gotten into a situation where Nira was hurt. And Solas could allow none of this to show as no one else, not even Nira, was aware of his connection to her. Solas drank from the Abyssal Peach again and his taste buds had gone numb in self-defence.

“You’ve noticed that too, huh?” Varric sounded amused and disgruntled at the same time and Solas’ curiosity had him paying attention again.

Bull laughed, a loud booming sound that drew attention of the Companions still in the group. Including the Commander himself. “It’s only about as noticeable as a lighthouse on a moonless night. When do you think they’ll figure it out?”

“Probably not until after I have a coronary trying to deal with the both of them AND the nugget.” Varric spat and snatched the bottle from Bull. “They’re even more oblivious than Solas was about little wolf.”

“Excuse me?” Solas belatedly spoke up in his own defence, wondering if they had another bottle as he swallowed the last of the current one.

“Come on Chuckles, they way you looked at the Inquisitor from the very start was a big fucking clue. The only two people to not figure it out right away were you and the Inquisitor herself. At least you two have NOW…” Solas assumed Varric’s dismayed tone had more to do with the Commander and the Champion’s blind obstinacy than his own relationship with Nira.

“You look upon every situation as material for that drivel you call the literature you write. I’d apologize for not wanting to feed into the ravenous beast that is your romance serials except that in the end, I ultimately don’t care.” Solas looked from the laughter dancing in Varric’s eyes to the Iron Bull’s singular, observing gaze.

He was not at all comforted when Iron Bull gave him a sympathetic look as if even he didn’t believe him. “Ok Chuckles, you are truly above all of that. Then you’re not going to care at all that the Inquisitor is riding into camp now.” Varric’s comment was a trap, part of Solas knew Nira was still too far away, and yet he fell for it.

Solas’ gaze shot out, searching in desperate hope before he turned a sharp look to the laughing Author. “Like I said, that’s cute.” Bull rumbled out. “Off limits the topic may be, but it’s still cute.”

“Fenedhis lasa.” Solas swore but resisted the urge to storm off to be on his own. Varric and Bull laughed at him in easy humour and despite the sensitivity of the topic, Solas found himself starting to laugh along with them.

If the laughter was a little bit bitter, no one remarked on it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translate:  
> Elvhen  
> Eirethalin- Combination of cold/frozen and person  my attempt to create the term ‘cold blooded’  
> Fenedhis lasa- Suck a wolf’s cock  
> Tevene  
> Domna, tua pulchre exultant lusibus  my attempt to say: Lady, you dance beautifully


	16. Alas'nira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition attends the peace talks at the Winter Palace.  
> All does not go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can be read in conjunction with storyline: Blessing or a Curse- Adamantly Unprepared- Chapter 2 Lionheart

Nira had been moderately electrocuted and had a deep penetration wound in her thigh; Solas barely spared either injury a passing glance. He couldn’t stop staring at her face. There was no red left in her Vallaslin, it had been utterly transformed into the same green that glimmered from her palm. Enough raw Fade Power had burned through her to leave a permanent, undeniable mark that was hauntingly beautiful and devastating. The colour of his Power suited her far more than the red had anyways but it was disturbing to think that the slow, incremental change he had noted had flooded through all at once.

Solas had been impatiently waiting for her return, the constant pulse of pain in the bond a warning to brace himself. When Nira finally arrived, he couldn’t give a single damn about anything else other than her eyes searching him out. Of all the demanding attentions hovering and crowding her, Nira still looked for him first. She had warned him once that she was not great with words but her actions would speak for her; it soothed something in him now to witness it.

Leliana, Lady Montilyet, and even the Commander had all spoken to him on the need for discretion in regards to his relationship with the Inquisitor while they were in Orlais. He was to remain distant and professional, leaving the existence of their romance to supposition alone. If they had given the same warning to da’fen she deliberately ignored them, walking up to him with a visible limp and standing far too close to be anything but deliberate. He wanted to pull her close to him, astonished and honored that a woman like Nira would have chosen him, but took his cues from her actions and simply focused on her and her alone.

“Welcome back.” He breathed the words, feeling a satisfied rumble from Fen’Harel to have such a telling display of affection from da’fen as her hand reached out quickly to curl her fingers against his.

Nira turned from the gesture quickly, face a mask of stoicism as she addressed her Advisors. “We’ve confirmed the Red Templar presence in Sahrnia. They’re taking villagers prisoners, one at a time. Most of those left have no way out and are starving to death besides.”

Solas stepped back, knowing she would have to brief the trio of humans demanding her attention; it would give him time to prepare what he could to treat that leg wound. The electric sparks still arching through Nira’s aura would dissipate on their own as she grounded them, but in private he could help bleed some of that away as well.

The Advisor’s interference was unwanted but not unwise; it would not take much for the Court of Orlais to turn on Nira. Solas already anticipated her non-compliancy in regards to playing the Game like the humans wanted her to, Nira was nothing if not consistent. If he wanted to help da’fen succeed he would have to make the necessary concessions. Even if it rankled at his Pride; he assuaged the discomfort by focusing on the amusement his ruse was going to offer.

Solas didn’t like knowing Nira had picked a fight with a Rift even though she had no Warrior to back her up. Her need to ease the burden of the people of Sahrnia revealed a growing compassion that wasn’t surprising as much as it was oddly humbling. And frustrating because now Nira had a concerning leg wound that Solas knew would not decrease the difficulty of the unfolding events. He let neither concern nor frustration show on his face though, aware that curious eyes of Companion and Orlesian alike were watching. He let them stare and wonder, his intentions his own to keep as he turned from the renewed energy of the Inquisition to retreat to his room.

It had been a long week without da’fen and even now that they were all in Orlais he felt wildly unsettled. They were surrounded by far more than just unfriendly humans; Solas couldn’t help but see the ghosts of a much older civilization superimposed the city. The manor they rested in as guests seemed old to these limited mortals but he knew it rested on the foundations of something much older and far grander than this new Winter Palace claimed to be. It left him in a most peculiar mood even before the door to his room opened and the Inquisitor stepped inside.

Solas remained quiet as he paced to meet her, Nira’s eyes guarded and likely searching for yet another in a long series of lectures, but nothing fell from him. Instead he gently touched her cheek, feeling the crackle of lightning jump from her aura to his but he didn’t pull away. Her face and eyes barely revealed a trace of her thoughts but Solas had memorized those small tells she had anyways.

She was alright; injured but his da’fen would recover. “You made good time vhenan.”

He saw the surprise for a microsecond, Nira had truly been expecting a different reaction. “I had reason to hurry; didn’t want to miss the fancy party.” Her tone was carefully light, testing his mood out.

“You’re here with a day to spare, though I am wondering if your attire will have to be adjusted to accommodate the leg.” He kept his tone musing instead of reprimanding.

“Pride and despair are terrible playmates.” Nira seemed to finally bleed out some of the tension holding her so stiff still.

“Certainly. Corrupted Wisdom and Failed Hope are determined if nothing else.” His answer was almost flippant.

The smile it garnered him was worth every agonizing minute he spent waiting for her.

\--

Solas had been right in his guess that her attire had to be adjusted for the night; Nira’s dress had left the wound on prominent display. Thankfully a rather clever suggestion from Sera of all Companions had it disguised under a laced leg garter that looked all the world like nothing more than an alluring accessory. Since her dress felt more negligee than gown it even matched. Nira had worn closed collars and gloved hands for so long now that seeing herself with so much skin revealed had been a bit shocking.

She wore no mask, Vivienne had gotten her those golden ear caps even at the last minute, and the cut of the dress left her Vallaslin aggressively displayed. Only the ones carved into her breasts, belly, and hips were concealed, otherwise every single aspect of Nira’s unsuitable Dalish heritage was prominently exhibited.

Even Gaspard was stunned silent at the reveal and the smelly shemlen hadn’t stopped talking since she’d been introduced to him.

“That’s certainly a statement you’re making little wolf.” Varric sounded slightly strained as they had a moment of quiet before going to the Palace.

Knowing that more than one set of eyes or ears was witnessing, Nira decided to give Varric an answer he probably wasn’t ready for. “For most Dalish Vallaslin are facial markings only. My mother thought it was appropriate for me to endure thirteen hours of what amounts to torture so I could have full body Vallaslin. A child receiving their marks can make no noise, reveal no pain.” She felt astonishingly calm discussing something that had utterly changed her life course, as if it had happened to someone else entirely. “Ask me if I flinched.”

Varric blinked, face stunned before turning to look at Solas. “Chuckles, marry that woman.” He demanded and Nira saw Solas raise his eyebrows in response but not answer.

It was time to go inside the sprawling, stinking mess that was Halamshiral.

Nira’s gut was warning her that The Winter Palace was going to bring trouble like nothing she had ever encountered before. What Nira wasn’t sure of was if her instincts could be trusted in this matter because they always warned that large collections of shemlen were dangerous. She had to persist anyways.

They managed to live down to her expectations almost immediately.

Their herald was calling out the arriving dignitaries in order of importance, and even if she technically held higher rank as Inquisitor, Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons was introduced first. Nira felt an amused smile quirk on her lips but it died a breath later.

“Lady Inquisitor Alnirafen Deshanna Lavellan.” Nira didn’t even hear the rest of the ridiculous titles brutally sewn onto her like pieces of decayed flesh, just waiting to rot the rest of her. She had never given Josephine or Leliana permission to use her full name, had foolishly let herself believe it hadn’t been discovered, and the use of it now soured whatever positive experience Nira could have gotten from this event. If these shemlen wanted to see what Alnirafen would bring them, they should have prepared for calamity.

None of it showed on her face because the entire Court was watching her, whispering as Empress Celene bowed courteously in greeting.

Adding insult to injury, Solas was likewise misidentified as her manservant. The amount of rage in her guts at that was powerful enough that Nira had to take a deep breath to push it away, not wanting this Court to have anything they could use against her.

Especially as she caught the amusement on Solas’ face, that slight expression saying louder than words that this was his plot and not the shemlen’s failure. Nira had to consider the fact that he would rather the entire stinking, useless human Court believe that a Dalish like her would keep a flat-ear manservant than confirm that he was her lover.

That hurt in a way Nira didn’t even want to consider.

Her focus was pulled from personal considerations when Gaspard immediately discarded with the Game exactly as she had been warned against by her Advisors. The shemlen had leeway the Court would never allow her it seemed, though so far he seemed to be earnest in his desire to use it assisting her.

Empress Celene started her introductions, Grand Duchess Florianne at her side, and Nira bided her time. She could smile and swirl, charmingly play the human’s Game while also dazzling them with her barbarian ways. It made her want to vomit, the disgust an uncomfortable playmate to the wrath in her belly. Her Advisors were watching, the Companions likewise dependant on her moves for their cues to act. So Nira played the Game.

First she followed worried whispers up a trellis and through locked doors to find dead Elven servants. Rumours swirled and drove her steps forwards, suspicions on secretive Briala or mystical Morrigan, Florianne and Gaspard not yet ruled out. And despite the seriousness at hand and her own careful focus, when she finally had a moment Nira took action to discuss with Solas just exactly what she thought of his little stunt. Worry over it was distracting her far too much.

So Nira carefully curled her arm through the loop of his elbow and gently guided them away from curious ears as she had several of her Companions over the night thus far. “If you had preferred to keep our relationship a secret I would have liked to know before you declared yourself my servant.” Nira had pulled Solas into a semi-secluded corner, unable to give them real privacy for this. She kept as much of the anger and hurt off of her face as possible, but it was only when she noticed the Commander watching with concern that she managed to shut down her emotional display entirely.

“It is nothing like that vhenan.” Solas carefully argued with his body language folded submissively while others watched them.

“And yet you didn’t think it was something to discuss with me first.” Her words silenced him at least. “I have spent enough of my life having the people I love be ashamed of me.” She stepped out into the moving crowds again, letting the need to play along with their human games help cover her spat with Solas.

This was why indulging in a relationship was a bad idea, it made her vulnerable to a person in a way Nira wasn’t at all accustomed to. In private Solas was all passion and declarations of love and affection but in the spotlight he shied away. Nira was always wrong with how she expected him to respond and react, especially in this it seemed. Deliberate willpower forced the matter from her mind and Nira refocused her efforts on trying to uncover the assassin.

The process of discovering the impending assailant allowed Nira to come across all the delectable bits of blackmail Leliana and Josephine wanted, which somehow then gave Nira the chance to maneuver even more human nobles into positions where they could help her. They had expectations about a Dalish Inquisitor that she now used against them mercilessly. An opponent in the Game was just as dangerous as the ones she physically fought in the halls. Splitting her way through Venatori agents while her rope dart danced, the injury in her leg all but forgotten with adrenaline coursing through her, Nira finally felt some of the agonizing tension leave her spine. Dancing the steps to the Game or the choreography of the Court was something Nira found herself capable of and detesting utterly. It was far more pure to trust only to her heart beat, the breath in her lungs, and the spin of her dart.

The night almost failed utterly when Briala decided to try and steal Nira’s attention for a one-on-one. Her instincts as a Scout had Nira all but slitting the Orlesian Spymaster’s throat when Briala wandered out of a room Nira had been chasing a Venatori agent into.

“Fancy meeting you here.” The Orlesian accent curled around Briala’s words, making them sound utterly insincere. Though that may have just been Briala herself. “Inquisitor Lavellan…slumming in the servant’s quarters with the rest of your people for once?” there was an acidic tone to Briala’s comment that made Nira smile. “We haven’t been properly introduced have we? I’m Ambassador Briala.” She even gave a mockingly shallow curtsey.

“Ambassador….” Nira repeated the title, keeping her personal opinion utterly void from her tone. Briala had come out intentionally confrontational so Nira would shove bland politeness down her throat until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Welcome to the Imperial Court, friend. This is how our diplomacy works.” Briala managed not to sound mocking this time at least. She turned to wander out onto the balcony and away from the stench of blood. “You’ve cleaned this place out. It will take a month to get all the Tevinter blood off the marble.” As if that was the greatest concern from Nira’s encounter. “I came down to save or avenge my missing people, but you’ve beaten me to it.”

Nira kept her own council as Briala ham fisted her way through trying to shift all suspicion to Gaspard. Either the Spymaster was terribly unsubtle or she expected Nira to be war less skilled at the Game than she actually was because not for a moment did Nira think any of these Orlesians were on her side. They were all connected to each other and willing to believe the other had sold them out without hesitation, and yet this was seen as a mark of civilization?

“What could you do with an army of Elven spies at your disposal?” Briala tried to cajole, “You should think about it.”

Even if her name had been uncovered, at least the abuses of Nira’s past had remained hidden. If not there was no way Briala would have made the pitch to her emphasizing the Elven alliance. Nira was Dalish yes, but they had proven reluctant to embrace her half-blood status her entire life. Elves that were pets to humans weren’t going to look on her any more kindly than her own mother had.

“You’ve charmed some of the nobles, we’ll see how long you can keep their favour.” Briala’s parting shot was supposed to be vicious but failed to bite at all.

Nira left the encounter with a lowered opinion on her chances of making it through the night without losing the last of her patience and burning the entire Winter Palace to the ground just to cleanse it of the filth living within it. It was a marvellous time for Florianne to ambush her to demand a dance.

All of her training had been in preparation for such an encounter. Nira felt confident in her ability to recreate the steps Dorian had helpfully drilled into her muscles but now she was wondering if her poise would be tested. Nira had no desire to don a mask, but she had to acknowledge that it would certainly make it easier for her to conceal her low estimation of those around her.

“Have the Dalish gained a sudden passion for politics? What do you know about the civil war?” Florianne demanded with a pleasant smile that didn’t match her tone at all.

The Dalish couldn’t care less for human politics but Nira ignored her desire to answer honestly and instead fed her the lies Vivienne had been helping to polish. “I assure you, the effect of this war reach far beyond the borders of the Orlesian Empire.”

“Perhaps it does.” Florianne’s heavy accent lent an air of sarcasm to everything she spoke and Nira kept the frown from her face through willpower alone. “I should not be surprised to find the Empire is the center of everyone’s world.” The fact that Nira didn’t roll her eyes at Florianne’s arrogance was impressive even to herself.

“It took great effort to arrange tonight’s negotiations.” Like she had for most of the night, Nira remained silent but pleasantly curious looking and let the human talk and talk and talk. “Yet one party would use this occasion for blackest treason. The security of the Empire is at stake. Neither one of us wishes to see it fall.” That Nira wasn’t so sure of; everyone was being viewed with suspicion even Celene herself and Nira knew from the Redcliffe future that the Empress is assassinated.

“Do we both want that Lady Florianne?” Josephine had commented again and again to offer no firm answers and Leliana had suggested that Nira make everything a question or a general statement if possible. As soon as Florianne looked irritated by her avoidance to answer Nira knew her Advisors had been exactly right.

“I hope we are of one mind on this.” Florianne countered as Nira spun her around.

“In times like these it’s hard to tell friend from foe, is it not, Your Grace?” The taller woman didn’t argue at being led, seeming to concede to the steps for the chance to continue arguing her position.

“I know you arrived here as a guest of my brother, Gaspard. And have been everywhere in the palace…” an understatement given the things Nira had already discovered over the course of her night. A part of her wondered what Florianne would make of the naked shemlen and the locket that proved Celene was more like Nira’s mother than anyone would have guessed. “You are a curiosity to many Inquisitor… and a matter of concern to some.”

They were getting dangerously close to telling each other the truth. “Am I the curiosity or the concern to you, Your Grace?”

Florianne gave a smile that was more real than any Nira had seen thus far during the night. “A little of both actually. This evening is of great importance Inquisitor. I wonder what role you will play in it?” Not bait, that was for sure. “Do you even know who is friend and who is foe? Who in the Court can be trusted?” Quick answer; no one. Long answer: nothing with a pulse.

“If I’ve learned anything Your Grace, it is to put my trust in no one.” Her answer seemed to satisfy Florianne at least.

“In the Winter Palace, everyone is alone.” Florianne agreed and then moved them onto a safer topic. “It cannot have escaped your notice that certain parties are engaged in dangerous machinations tonight.”

“I thought dangerous machinations were the national sport in Orlais.” Nira faked a surprised tone that brought an equally fake smile to Florianne’s lips.

The music was spinning to a crescendo and Nira still wasn’t sure if this encounter had been a success, failure, both or neither. As she dipped Florianne, the Grand Duchess warned her, “You have little time.” The audience clapped and still the Orlesian whispered, “The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes. In the royal wing garden, you will find the Captain of my brother’s mercenaries. He knows all Gaspard’s secrets.” The human certainly seemed to lose no tears over the betrayal of her brother. “I’m certain you can persuade him to be forthcoming.”

“We’ll see what the night has in store, won’t we?” Nira bowed and departed, aware that the Court was dissembling her dance all unaware of the discussion.

She had done well enough that Josephine complimented her on her performance even before Nira could pass on the Grand Duchess’ warning. Leliana was more astonished at the dance itself, while her Commander was concerned only for the blood drops staining the hem of her golden dress. Worse than their varied efforts to ask how the night was going, her Advisors weren’t actually settled on the idea of her saving Celene yet. They wanted the Dalish half breed with weak magic to make a decision that would affect not only all of Orlais, but inevitably the rest of Thedas even after she had thwarted Corypheus.

She needed more information so Nira did the only thing she could, walked into what felt like a trap but only after telling Cullen to get his soldiers into place. One doorway into the royal wing and Nira heard the unmistakable sounds of attack. It had been an ambush, just not for her it seemed.

An Elven servant was scrambling back, unarmed and defenceless in the face of the ridiculously garbed Tevinter assassin. Both were so consumed by the attentions of the other that the assassin didn’t even realize Nira had entered the room. Their mistake, the scream of alarm they gave out as Nira kicked them through the open window was at least surprised and short lived.

Of course Briala had sent her own people into a trap, all that talk about their people was just talk. Briala was the kind to sacrifice whomever she needed to as long as she made advances in the Game; like sleeping with Celene even after she’d razed the alienage. Nira could not understand how those related to the Dalish had allowed themselves the subservient role as it was, how Briala could stand to have the shemlen touch her intimately after something like that though?

Nira’s palm crackled with pain and Power as they ventured deeper into the Royal Wing. Either a Rift was open nearby or something equally foul was afoot. Nira charged ahead, from the encounter with the servant and straight into a circle of archers.

“Inquisitor, what a pleasure! I wasn’t certain you’d attend.” Florianne called out smugly. “You’re such a challenge to read. I had no idea if you’d taken my bait.”

It was frustrating to realize she’d been so easily manipulated, though her Advisors had too if that was the case. Lacking a better option, Nira decided to play the Game for her life. “I fear I’m a bit busy at the moment, if you were looking for a dance partner.”

Florianne graced her comment with a smile. “Yes, I see that. Such a pity you did not save one final dance for me.” The Rift nearby fluctuated and Nira managed to swallow her grunt of pain. “It was kind of you to walk into my trap so willingly. I was so tired of your meddling. Corypheus insisted that the Empress die tonight, and I would hate to disappoint him.”

“Why kill the Empress? What does Corypheus want to achieve?” she already knew, but there was a chance Florianne might have more information than what Nira had learned in the Redcliffe future.

“Celene’s death is a stepping stone on the path to a better world.” Florianne sounded impatient now, but still too arrogant to just walk away and kill them all. “Corypheus will enter the Black City and claim the godhood waiting for him. We will cast down your useless Maker and usher in a united world, guided by the hand of an attentive god.”

Nira had a god all too attentive on her already, Fen’Harel no easier to deal with in the Fade even after her understanding that maybe he wasn’t just the Trickster. The last thing Nira needed was another attentive anything. “You’re Orlesian royalty, why would you help Corypheus attack your Empire?”

“You think so small Inquisitor. Why settle for an Empire when Corypheus will remake the entire world?” she demanded, seemingly oblivious to how little he would need her own presence once that was the case. “I admit, I will relish the look on Gaspard’s face when he realizes I’ve outplayed him. He always was a sore loser.”

This Lady was lacking anything close to sanity, Nira realized finally. She looked reasonable enough on the surface but an inch below that was flat out crazy. “What exactly is in this for you?” the question was asked though Nira doubted she’d get the truth.

Florianne laughed. “The world of course.” She smiled brightly. “I’ll deliver the entire south of Thedas and Corypheus will save me.” The irony of a betrayer not yet realizing she would inevitably be betrayed in return, Nira realized Florianne was still technically playing the Game. “When he has ascended into godhood, I will rule all Thedas in his name.”

Her palm gave another painful crackle and Nira heard one of her Companions shuffling behind her. “At this point I’d think disappointment was an old friend to you.”

“You poor, deluded thing. You don’t know half of what Sampson and I have planned. And now I suppose you never will. In their darkest dreams, no one imagines I would assassinate Celene myself. All I need is to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike. A pity you’ll miss the rest of the ball Inquisitor. They’ll be talking of it for years.” The woman’s floppy hand movements were irritating and galvanized the Venatori around her into action. “Kill her, bring me the Marked hand as proof. It’ll make a fine gift for the Master.”

A Rift, a dozen archers, and armed Venatori. Nira had Solas, Cassandra, and Sera at her back and in a second they were all going to die. So instead Nira touched the Rift even without moving and threw it open. A Rift, demons spilling out and into the archers and Venatori. It wasn’t a better situation but it was one in which Nira knew how to keep herself and her People alive. The Venatori scrambled to save their own skin, giving her people the chance to shield or strike as needed. Nira spun about, feet sticky with hot spilled blood and sappy ichor alike. Her dart stroked the throat of the last human assailant even as Solas ashed the last demon and finally she closed the Rift again.

Gaspard’s Captain, Briala’s locket, Celene’s fear; Nira realized all the leaders were terrible choices. But if she needed stability then perhaps it was time Orlais had a leader with all other options removed.

She didn’t bother wiping the blood or ichor off her face before re-entering the Ball this time. Florianne was about to betray Celene with a knife in the back. Gaspard was going to betray her with the mercenaries Nira had so neatly stolen from him. It was a split second decision but Nira decided at last that she’d rather thwart both du Chalons and save Celene. The Empress was weak and fear-filled but better an ally Nira could anticipate failing rather than betraying her.

The audience reacted to her bloodied attire with astonished cries and chatter, finally drawing Florianne’s attention off of Gaspard and Briala. “We owe the Court one more show, Your Grace.” Nira called up, not bothering to gentle her tone.

And Nira saw it, the moment Florianne knew she’d been beaten. Her shoulder dropped, the smile left her face and no sarcasm dripped from her voice. “Inquisitor.” What would come next was entirely up to Nira now.

“The eyes of every noble in the Empire are upon us, Your Grace. Remember to smile.” Nira knew her own was less than cordial as she climbed the steps, far too glad to see Florianne take a cautious step back. “This is your party. You wouldn’t want them to think you had lost control.”

Florianne’s body language was screaming her discomfort and confusion as Nira waited for her attempt to respond. “Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?”

“I seem to recall you saying, ‘All I needed was to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike’.” She raised her voice deliberately, wanting to be heard. Even with a mask on she could see Florianne’s face draining of colour.

Nira hooked her arms behind her back, pacing around the would-be assassin and commanding attention of the entire Court. “When your archers failed to kill me in the garden, I feared you wouldn’t save me this last dance.” Distantly the Court was reacting to her words but Nira didn’t care. In this moment they could believe her, disbelieve her, do nothing at all and she did not care. Nira was the Inquisitor and she was here to ensure that Corypheus’ plan failed and if that meant they loved her for it, fine. If it meant they hated her for it; so be it.

“It’s so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of a council Emissary.” In her peripheral Nira saw Gaspard take a step back, physically shocked at his sister’s machinations. “It was an ambitious plan. Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds….all your enemies under one roof.”

Florianne seemed to try and recover, words striking forwards even as her feet retreated backwards. “This is very entertaining, but you do not imagine anyone believes your wild stories?”

“That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin.” Celene spoke up now and Nira was actually a little surprised that they had believed her.

“Gaspard? You cannot believe this! You know I would never…” Florianne tried to appeal but her brother simply shook his head and walked away from her. “Gaspard?” she sounded so lost now that Nira actually felt a little sorry for her. Florianne was so arrogant she’d never considered the consequences if she’d failed.

The guards came for her and Nira watched as Florianne backed away, deciding to either fight or submit. “You lost this fight ages ago, your Grace. You’re just the last to find out.” Nira watched as Florianne sank to her knees, submitting to the guards before she turned away to face Celene.

“Your Imperial Majesty, I think we should speak in private. Elsewhere.” She managed to couch it as a request at least.

It was a quick interlude on the battlements and the last of Nira’s kindness was used to spare Gaspard’s life. Nira felt oddly proud to have manipulated the entire Orlesian Court into accepting a Briala-Celene partnership; it had at least provided enough distraction to let Nira’s hurt and anger simmer down. Her magic did not play in the destructive forces that Rena Hawke could boast, nor was it the carefully controlled manipulation that Solas could wield; instead Nira had to resist the urge to see if Life Drain would work on a group this large. It was cold and calculated but after tonight Nira seriously considered it, because no matter what Orlais would remain a problem. They loved her now, but it would not take much time for them to forget that admiration, for Nira to once again become _that Dalish Inquisitor_. Love would not be enough; she may have to make them fear her too. It wasn’t the way she wanted to hold power for the Inquisition but if that is what it took she would not falter. Regardless, it was not something she could solve tonight.

Nira left the swirling party quickly, escaping out onto the balcony where the air was much sweeter. Orlais might be a glittering jewel to these pompous humans but like all large collections of bodies, it stank. Under the rank of perfumes, flowers, and even those terrible meats, there was the smell of sweat, despair, and rot. Or maybe that was just to her nose after dealing with these Orlesians all evening long. It had been satisfying to shut down the Venatori plot with vicious finality, but even that had been a short lived feeling victory. Morrigan had come to her before the taste of victory had even faded and informed Nira that she was being foisted upon the Inquisition as per _Empress_ Celene’s request; it didn’t help improve Nira’s caustic mood but she held her tongue.

At least with the Court Occult Advisor.

“So at last we know the truth of your full name, Alnirafen.” Solas’ orotund voice summoned her attention; he still hadn’t apologized for his error. “That’s quite the title to bear.” He carefully insinuated.

“So you understand why Nira is… easier.” Not to mention conveniently more human sounding for the Inquisition. Now she felt almost ridiculous in her assumptions that her full name would never be found out.

“Depending on what histories you’ve been raised to believe, your name has a whole host of implications.” He came to lean at the railing next to her, too close and yet Nira didn’t move away.

Nira had vetoed matching uniforms for the Inquisition but they had gone with similar cuts and colours for a united look. The black pants contrasted with the still impossibly perfect white jacket, and the gold of Nira’s dress was reflected in the piping and epaulets the Inquisition wore, though for some Blighted reason Solas had on a hideous onion shaped cap as well. It was ridiculous and she had to resist the urge to rip damn thing off and toss it away.

“As it was plainly and repeatedly explained to me; I was as unwanted as a summer frost or a mid-season famine. My mother would have gladly given me to the Forgotten Ones if she could have found a way to turn it to the Clan’s benefit, and they were unable to defy her will. So if you do not wish the world to know Alnirafen shares your bed, I don’t actually blame you.” She didn’t flinch, having spent the entirety of her life bearing the title of ‘dancing with the Wolf’; it was the equivalent of calling her ‘Maferath’s Whore’ in Andrastrian.

-

Solas would have been less surprised it she’d slapped him; she could not truly believe that he had no desire to declare their intimacy to the world. His restraint here was about saving them both more difficulties, not because he felt some kind of shame for being with her. But despite Nira’s constant mask of unshakeable aloofness Solas could see the lingering ghost of doubt in her eyes. A lifetime of mistreatment and self-reliance would be hard to counter without being more direct than he had been tonight.

Alnirafen was aptly named; he was the Wolf and he wanted nothing more than to exhaust them both with their own wicked dance. He had thought his actions would be doing his da’fen a favour but it had caused her pain instead, something he would endeavour to rectify immediately.

Solas knew his smile was a little vicious because Nira actually looked surprised in the heartbeat before he claimed her mouth in a kiss. He would make her understand how difficult it had been to see her garbed in such a manner, eyes and aura flashing with her anger, and not give in to the urge to strip the provocative dress from her. To most of those watching her dress simply looked like pale gold fabric that glittered under the lights but Solas knew her dress was heavily stitched with wards and protective spells. Even without the alluring magic, the dress she wore begged to be pulled away. Fabric curled around her throat, travelling down to cover her bust and all the way to where the skirts draped over her feet. Nira’s shoulders and upper back were bared entirely, the golden fabric gathered behind her neck and over her breasts while a flexible bustier buckled over her ribs and down to her hips where the fabric panels continued to spill to the floor. His control had been constantly tested by where the panels split; exposing the line of her legs.

Nira clung to the embroidered lapels of his jacket even as he held her close. It was purposefully indiscreet, one hand on her curve of her back while the other cupped her jaw; the display was for the humans, Solas only cared for how completely Nira bent her focus to this. He almost laughed; his da’fen had no idea of the delectable torment she had just volunteered for.

A slight effort of Will and when Solas Stepped them back it actually took them to the far side of the balcony, and out of the line of sight. What he had planned next required no audience; for all that Nira appeared careless to what others thought of her and her disapproval to his ruse, Solas knew she would appreciate the implied privacy. He didn’t want to share her with the world either, so the act was for both their sakes.

Nira made an impatient sound at the maneuver, likely feeling the thrum of his mana surging through their kiss. His thumb rested over her drumming pulse as he thoroughly ruined the careful lip colour painted onto her mouth before whispering with a voice more hoarse than he wanted it to be, “I will be Fen’Harel and you will be Alnirafen and we will dance.” He promised and saw raw desire in her eyes without a trace of fear for the name he’d invoked. She likely thought it a naughty joke but a part of Nira would undoubtedly believe; soon enough all of her would, once his Orb was returned.

“If we dance Fen’Harel, would I need to fear your feet or your teeth?” Nira’s voice was taunting and made him laugh.

“Vhenan you need not fear my teeth,” he warned in a soft tone, letting his breath tease along her gold capped ear, “but you should anticipate them.” And it gave him a wonderful idea.

He kissed her again, hard and fierce even as he pulled his hands from her jaw and back. Her face was softly stunned as he took advantage of the panels of her dress, the slit making it easy for his hand to scoop under and expose her thigh while being careful of her healing wound. This was not the time or place for enduring intimate encounters but Solas was not going to let her walk away from this entirely unscathed. He made no sound as he carefully dropped to his knees on the stone, dusting kisses against her thigh. Without his lapels to hold onto, Solas saw her hands scrambled against the wall for anchorage. When her astonished eyes caught his Solas grinned and carefully bit. Under his grip the skin of her thigh was soft though the muscle wasn’t, and he could taste only the slightest traces of sweat despite the adventures of the night already. To his magic she thrummed like a tightly pulled harp chord already. It reminded him of the first time he encountered her in the Fade, all tense action just waiting to erupt.

But she held still for him, not looking away and it took all of his not inconsiderable control to be in this position, with her so pliant and willing, and not press his advantage. He had once remarked about how fascinating it would be to see her focus broken and there were legends about his indomitable patience, but yet it was Solas having to retreat from the delicate knife’s edge when Alnirafen stroked a finger along the sensitive tip of his ear.

He gentled his mouth, a delicate kiss placed into the center of a beautifully wrought mark before releasing her thigh and standing to claim her lips. Nira seemed to have decided she was free to touch now, her hands left the wall to draw fingertips along his jaw, scalp, and of course ears. Her own mutilated ear tips were disguised by little gold caps, so Solas decided to play along to her little game and it wasn’t her ears he decided to stroke.

The same slit that helped expose his blatant bite mark also allowed him to get his fingers against her skin, and more importantly allowed him to dig firm lines of magic against her aura. He could no longer feel the separation between her magic and his Power hidden inside her, but it didn’t matter now. Solas would take Nira completely; find a way to join her to his cause. He expected to encounter lace or silk and gave a silent snarl when he found only wetness waiting for him. His teeth captured her lower lip, leaving her soft cry of pleasure no cover as he drove his fingers into her despite his intentions to play the long game. Her hands dropped to the shoulders of his tunic and fisted on for support, his body crowding against hers as his knees pressed hers apart and he drove her body towards orgasm.

“I had planned to leave the mark, a chaste but poignant prelude of what’s to come.” He whispered raggedly against her ear even as she moaned softly. It was easy for him to torment her body ever closer to completion and not let her cross that line of satisfaction, the erratic circles from his thumb against her clit and fingers inside leaving her shuddering and dripping but not cresting to the final finish. “But Alnirafen, you should know better than to taunt Fen’Harel.” He gently kissed her pulse point and stilled his fingers, hearing her groan softly. “Some will see the mark I’ve placed, they will whisper oh so knowingly. And only you and I will know that your thighs are drenched with frustrated desire instead of the spent ecstasy they’re assuming.” And he carefully pulled his fingers free, stepping back and making deliberate eye contact as he sucked the traces clean.

Hunting Venatori plots in Halamshiral and confronting the assassin Florianne had not visibly affected Nira despite the blood stained into the hem of her dress, but he had. Pride crowed in his chest as he looked at her; kiss-bruised lips with all coloured paint long gone, her skin was flushed with desire, and the green of her eyes was barely visible for the darkness of her pupil. She looked beautifully aroused and he had to fight his own base lust, a blindingly determined part of him wanting nothing more than to make her scream his name for all the Orlesian Court to hear. Instead he asked her to dance.


	17. Teleolasan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Qun becomes demanding at an inopportune time and the fate of The Iron Bull is shifted forcibly to one side, leaving Nira to wonder just how much the spy has really become hers, all while Solas seeks distractions from the unravelling of all his carefully laid plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay between chapters. I have excuses, they are not enough.  
> Though if you are curious they are:  
> 1- job seeking/finding/training/contract ending,  
> 2-emotional depressive episode  
> and  
> 3- my other fanfic muse WOULD NOT LEAVE ME ALONE

The wound in her leg was infected. Nira stared at the red lines radiating out from the puffy and pussy wound and realized that for all the strangeness currently in the world, at least this still held true. Getting a puncture wound dirty was a quick way to bad and now her entire leg _throbbed_. At least it didn’t smell yet, she made a face while ignoring the shooting pain cleaning the wound caused her; a silent prayer to Sylaise for small favours. She had been careless but at least caught the consequences for it early enough to handle the situation without catastrophe. If she was smart and careful, she could clear this up without loss of limb or muscle strength.

Which was good because even if things had gone well at the Winter Palace, the world was still trying to actively kill her far too regularly to be going at it with a missing limb. It was already going to be a trial dealing with Corypheus’ next plot to ruin the world, she didn’t need to try and do it with the hypothetical arm tied behind her back.

At Haven she had gone out to face the sickly Magester thinking that she was going to die for her efforts. Now that Nira knew that there was even a sliver of a chance for her to survive, she was going to do everything in her ever growing power to make sure of it. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe in happy endings, even in the midst of her own romance with Solas she couldn’t bring herself to reach that far, but she could just about talk herself into believing she could still survive all of this. To do that though, she had to grit her teeth and flush the wound in her leg clean.

She’d vacillated between being a fastidious child that luxuriated in being clean and being an absolute mud nug, using grit and grime to hide any trace of resemblance to her mother. But the same summer Nira had inherited her magic had also taught her the dangers of bad blood.

One of the tanners had cut themselves while working, the blade sharp and supposedly clean so no one had thought anything of simply wrapping his hand and letting him back to work. Especially as Deshanna’s Healing was limited. The fever hit before the end of the first day but it had been a hot stretch so being flushed and sweaty and discomforted was expected and no one saw the danger signs for what they were. His hand was utterly unusable the next morning and everyone teased him for being so ‘tender and delicate’.

The teasing had stopped when the seizures had started. He didn’t made it to the third day.

Ever since that Nira had been very careful about what went into her body and even while crawling through mud and filth kept aware of scrapes and scratches that would need to be tended. She stared down at the bloody whole torn into the meat of her leg and wondered just when she’d gotten arrogant enough to forget that lesson. It was the early stages of infection but even this could have easily been avoided if she’d kept her wits; Solas had even briefly taken care of it when she’d joined them in Orlais but he had mistakenly believed she’d continue her own care and maintenance.

She tended the wound, perhaps far less compassionately than she would have had it been on another’s body, and tried not to listen to the whispering doubts clustering inside her head. She had stood in Halamshiral and commanded the entire Court, and they had listened. But for how long? How long did she have allies in the Empire and would they remain loyal long enough for her to save the world? A part of her wanted to believe that even if others would doubt her directly that they may at least respect the Inquisition, but too much of her own life had proven that to be a perilous thing. Sometime soon she was going to have to show them just how much she had learned from her mother, even if Nira didn’t want to use any of the skills taught by Deshanna she knew better than most anyone else just how effective they were.

Nira hissed, an aborted sound of pain she quelled immediately as she scrubbed too hard at the wound and made it bleed freely once again.

She wasn’t her mother. She wasn’t the Dalish barbarian everyone assumed she was when they saw her either. Nira was nothing of what they expected, nothing of what they truly needed, but she was also not going to be anything less than herself in how she handled the problems presented to her now.

A bloody, puss oozing wound was met with scalding hot water and healing root encrusted soap. The doubts in her head were silenced viciously when Nira confronted them with the awareness that she had yet to actually fail. And the lingering concern over what was still to come she accepted as inevitable because she wasn’t actually nonsensical. The Inquisition, her relationships, nothing came with any certain outcomes and Nira was feeling the strain from it all even if she refused to allow anyone to see so.

Her thigh was bleeding cleanly again, the blood the bright healthy red she wanted when someone knocked on her door. “Boss?” Iron Bull’s voice boomed out from the other side of the door and Nira had to decide if she wanted to delay this or just deal with it.

“Enter and close the door behind you.” She finally called out, knowing that her injury would now be immediately reported to Bull’s other handlers.

Bull did as she had commanded, he entered without hesitation and the door closed silently behind him, the latch making only the slightest noise as he also decided to lock it. His body language was carefully guarded, giving nothing away to those that would try and read his intentions from it but Nira also knew him well enough to realize that if Bull was even subtly giving off this much then whatever he had to say was bothering him immensely.

She let her leg bleed and focused on the Qunari.

“We’re only just back in Skyhold Bull, whatever has you looking that uncomfortable better not start with the words ‘I’m going to be a daddy’.” Nira wasn’t even sure if a Qunari could get anyone other than another Qunari pregnant. It could be but be like Elves and Dwarves together; staggeringly low birth rate rendered any ‘possible’ right into ‘implausible’.

Bull just blinked at her for a moment and the lack of joke to follow made Nira long for some kind of demon she could just kill to solve the problem. The Qunari spy was supposed to be the _easy_ one in her group! She had earned a blighted break from complicated for at least a week. But of course, there was no rest for the wretched and Nira knew that many counted her in that ranking too.

“I got a letter from my contacts in the Ben-Hassrath.” Bull sounded like he needed to hit something and continued to ignore both the facts that Nira was not wearing pants and was still actively bleeding on herself.

“What did the letter say?” No jokes, no sexual innuendo, not even comrade like concern; Nira knew Bull wasn’t wholly hers but she’d never felt him be this alien before. Maybe this was the time he stabbed her in the back.

“The Ben-Hassrath have been reading my reports. They don’t like Corypheus or his Venatori.” Bull explained without preamble. “And they _really_ don’t like Red Lyrium.” A little life crept back into Bull’s tones but Nira wasn’t going to believe it or trust it for even a heartbeat. “They’re ready to work with us. With _you_ , Boss. The Qunari and the Inquisition, joining forces.”

Florianne had been right, the Game never truly ends.

Nira didn’t want to deal with the Qun at all, she’d heard nasty rumours her whole life and the moment Bull had joined her she’d had Leliana collect every scrap of knowledge they could get about the culture and habits of these strange Gray Ones. What had been found did little at all to resolve Nira’s concerns, but Bull himself had gone a long way to alleviate that paranoia. Which had been his entire point of being upfront about it.

She didn’t trust the Qun, and now Nira was wondering if it had been a mistake to trust Bull as much as she had thus far. So she lied. “That could be a powerful alliance.”

At any other time he would have caught that lie, the implication that she would actually trust the Qun, but he wanted to be fooled and so he was. He left after winding down the possibilities an alliance could bring her, never remarking on the state of her leg or lack of pants though she doubted he hadn’t noticed so it only added to her unease.

He’d always been honest about belonging to the Ben Hassrath, all the reports he’d let them know of were verified by Leliana, and yet it had been so easy to lose sight of that reality in the face of how likeable he was. Nira hated that he knew so much about what she was like, that she had let him in so close because now it hurt. He _wasn’t_ hers, wasn’t safe to depend on or trust; his friendship was a carefully crafted lie.

The Qun didn’t have alliances, they had conquest or tolerance and there was no in-between. Kirkwall was proof of that, for all the claims that it was unsanctioned. But the Iron Bull didn’t act like a typical Qunari did and that was half the problem. He’d treated her with respect, almost uncaring that she was both a mage and a mix blood, and even when she’d rejected his romantic overtures he’d never treated her differently. But that was probably going to change after this, there was no way Nira could see it not and she had no idea what was actually coming.

Nira’s hands went back to cleaning the wound on her leg, binding it up only after her deliberations turned too masochistic to ignore.

She could only focus on the steps she could plan to take. For a meeting with the Qun she wanted to bring those that either had the most experience with, or the best ability to thwart, Qunari. Although Madam de Fer had cowed Iron Bull into supposed submission; she didn’t want to bring the Court Enchanter to a likely ambush because she needed her knowledge of Orlais even after stabilizing the Empire. Solas had never mentioned dealing with Qunari but Dorian had had a lifetime of experience facing down the Qun, so that was an easy pick. It was probably going to cause a fight because the last time she left Solas behind she’d come back injured, but Nira wasn’t going to back down on her assessment. Bull was technically her warrior but if this was a trap then she wanted someone that could even outmaneuver Bull. That meant Cole.

And Nira wasn’t without her own skills, the match between her and Iron Bull a lesson neither one of them would forget. He’d expect things from her now that she didn’t particularly want him prepared for if it came to a real clash but regardless Nira would fight that battle if it came to it; even if it would hurt to have to kill her friend.

The Iron Bull knew what she was capable of in the name of Duty. Now she was going to learn what he would do.

Informing her Advisors and the Companions of this unexpected excursion was a very good distraction from the angry throbbing in her leg at least. And having Solas do his utmost best to keep her bemused until her departure went a long way too.

“I would prefer to go with you, but I do not fault your reasoning for taking the altus.” Solas had taken the news that she was leaving him behind again far better than Nira had anticipated. At least verbally; he was still holding her hand as they lay in bed and she suspected that it would be sometime close to sunrise before he let go of her.

Nira had confirmed that she was taking Bull, Dorian, and Cole with her to take the bait the Qun had set out. Cole was her wild card, and Dorian had sounded thrilled by the idea of confronting possibly hostile Qunari; she suspected that he was going to don his most garishly Tevinter attitude possible. It would be good if he did, even if this wasn’t a trap (which she highly doubted it could be anything but), and even if things did go overwhelmingly in favour of an alliance (if that happened she’d strip naked and propose to Fen’Harel in the Fade itself), Nira wanted everyone to keep very firmly in mind that she was running an Inquisition that tolerated _everyone_. She’d lived through enough discrimination in her own life to never want to institute another version enforced on everyone else.

“I would prefer to not be in the notice of the Qun, but Leliana has confirmed that they are reaching out to us. Officially and through Bull; I am the first leader to have a standing invitation with the Qun to discuss an alliance.” Nira would feel more proud of that accomplishment if it hadn’t come suspiciously close on the heels of her all but taking over Orlais to set it to rights.

“If things were exactly as we would have them be, we never would have met.” He said it almost offhand but Nira remained silent, aware that he was entirely right.

If her life had turned out the way she’d thought it was supposed to, the way the Clan had raised her to believe was the only way things should work; Nira would have never presented magic. She would have been just a Scout, learning under Brasirotha and finding a quiet place in the Clan. Left to her own choices, Nira suspected that she’d have elected a life similar to her Hahren’s; eschewing a family and instead finding happiness by embracing her Duty.

Instead she was loved and respected and most likely feared by those that called her Inquisitor.

“And what would you be, if the world had gone as you planned?” she asked after a slightly too long pause.

“Probably sleeping.” His reply made her huff a soft laugh, keenly aware of how much her lover enjoyed his rest.

She curled her leg over his and shifted her weight, taking advantage of their interlaced fingers to help hold him in place. Now she knelt over him, knees bracketing his hips and her mouth an inch away from his so that their breaths mingled and she had his complete attention. “Is that really what you’d rather be doing right now?”

If the world was perfect she would have missed out on a lot of events that had changed her into someone she actually liked being. She had lived ignorantly happy in the place the Clan had made for her but now she had a place; maybe not initially of her own choosing but lived the way _she_ wanted it.

“Sleep is the last thing I want to be doing vhenan, especially if you are to leave me behind again.” Solas admitted, curling his free hand behind her back.

“Good answer, because I have much better uses of your time.” Maybe her life wasn’t what she would have planned but even as her leg still throbbed with fading infection Nira knew it wasn’t actually a bad life.

It was a good thought to cling to as her team sloughed through springtime in the _very_ aptly named Storm Coast. As a Scout Nira was more than a little familiar with all the varied types of rain, but this was probably the first time she’d ever endured ALL of the types of rain in a single afternoon. Including some hail.

She still preferred this to the fetid waters of the Fallow Mire. It had been bad enough in the depths of winter, where the cold kept the water rimmed in ice and the smell suppressed slightly. By this time of the year it probably reeked of wood rot and charnel house mud; the Storm Coast was wet and mildly miserable but it was still an improvement. At least it would be if they weren’t here to meet the Qun; it was a very bad sign that Nira would rather play with the rotting dead than a possible brace of allies. Then again she knew the rotting dead would attack on sight, the Qunari would likely wait to betray her.

And it was no comfort at all to realize that Bull was as unsettled by this trip as she was. As he had told her, he had gotten used to the idea of the Qun being _over there_. She suspected that he felt now like she had when Ilriane had appeared at Skyhold without warning; like the air had been sucker punched out of him and the ground wasn’t stable. And just like Nira had herself, the Iron Bull let none of it show on his face.

Instead she read it in the silences that normally wouldn’t have been silent. She was watching her friend tuck himself away to once again be the Ben Hassrath tool he’d warned her he was from the start. Only the person Bull was didn’t exactly fit back into the little jar the Qun wanted him to stay in, and Nira might be a little determined to keep it that way. It wasn’t that she didn’t want allies, Nira had witnessed too much sacrificed in the Redcliffe future to ever turn down the help offered, but every inch of her skin was crawling with the suspicion that this was a trap. Solas hadn’t argued against leaving him behind, but he had urged her to take Varric for his experience instead of Cole.

Now she was wishing she’d brought the entire damn hoard of Companions with her. If Iron Bull was about to betray her to the Qun, she’d want the backup. Though she felt slightly safer with the Chargers being along for the ride; if Bull wanted to betray her, he’d also have to betray his people.

Things got a little more auspicious as the rain actually stopped for most of an hour, letting them at least squeeze the worst of the moisture out of their clothes before they encountered the Ben Hassrath contact sent to meet them; an Elf named Gatt that Iron Bull actually knew. Part of her wondered if he’d been sent to help mollify Bull or make her more comfortable with the Qun by sending someone supposedly ‘familiar looking’.

As Gatt introduced himself to her, Nira suspected it was a failure either way. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor. Hissrad's reports say you're doing good work.”

Before she could ask who the void Hissrad was, Dorian proved he was in fact there to be as offensive as possible. “Yes one free from all that pointless free-will and independent thought; such an improvement.”

And it took Nira’s not inconsiderable self-control to keep her face pleasantly blank when Cole turned to the Tevinter and literally shushed him for her. If Bull had told the Qun what Cole was, she wanted his strangeness to unsettle Gatt and those that would read the Elf’s reports. Gatt’s reactions would tell her an awful lot about Bull’s reports.

The man in question continued as if neither human had spoken. “We'll need to eliminate the Venatori then signal the dreadnought so it can come in and take out the smuggler ship.”

She had to play along, wanting to get as much information as possible before seeing what the trap really was. “Bull does this work for you?”

Because it really didn’t work for her; she was a Scout being told to trust the report of people she’d never met, had never worked with, and that had a bad habit of looking on people like her as things to be contained. She knew through personal experience how important an accurate scout report was and this Qun owned slave was telling her to ignore her instincts and _trust him_. That wasn’t in her nature but she could play along for a while.  At least until she knew for sure Bull was lost.

Again Cole spoke up without prompting, hovering close to Gatt. “Heart hammering, brush of breath at the base of my back. He licks his thumb before turning the page. He never finished. You don't have a demon inside you. You don't have to wonder anymore.”

Now Gatt lost that amused smile he’d worn since coming out of the woods. His colour dropped away like the flag of a losing army and he actually begged, “Stop. Just... stop.”

Nira would never admit it, but it actually hurt a little when Bull interceded. “Cole, knock it off. People who follow the Qun get nervous around demons, remember?”

At least that answered Nira’s curiosity over whether or not they knew what Cole was. Which meant there was no way Bull hadn’t told them everything he’d learned about her; including the ordeal with Brasirotha. It killed her hope that her friendship with Bull had been real and just left her tired, and sad. It was her fault; he’d been honest about what he was from the start.

Gatt looked disgusted now, taking a deliberate step away from Cole. “Bull, how can you work with a demon?”

Bull shrugged and gave a noncommittal, “He's all right.”

Now it was Dorian giving Bull the disgusted look, stepping away from their friend to stand closer to Cole. Nira stood between the two pairs of people and the symbolism of that was lost on no one at all.

“Let’s go hold up our end of the bargain then.” Nira focused on Gatt, letting her peripheral track the mass that was the Iron Bull.

“My agents suggested two possible locations the Venatori may be camped to guard the shore. There and there.” He indicated the obvious watch points that Nira would have scouted out herself. It was slightly heartening; maybe these Qunari _weren’t_ out to spring an ambush. Of course she could also see about three other places she’d also scout out just to be safe; if it was obvious to her it would be obvious to others too. “We’ll need to split up and hit both at once.”

And there it was; the suggestion to separate and lessen the few forces she’d brought with her. “I’ll come with you Boss, Krem can lead the Chargers.” Bull insisted with his usual smirk but this time Nira didn’t smile back. He was going to stick the knife in her back personally it seemed. “Let me fill him in, come by me when you’re ready to move.” Bull moved off, giving nothing away about what he’d read in her silence.

She stood with Gatt in front of her, Dorian and Cole watching her back and heard Bull tell his Chargers Horns up. When it had been Brasirotha instructing the Scouts on their deployments it often sounded just the same, only instead at the end they’d softly mutter ‘Vir Tanadhal’.

After her last Duty for Brasirotha Bull had searched her out, offering drinking and distraction; real comradeship. She had sat with the Chargers and even if she hadn’t drunk, she’d soaked in their stories and the connections between them. The same few connections she’d had with Brasirotha and the Scouts before she’d come of age. She would have rather died than betray that and a part of Nira desperately held onto the hope that the Iron Bull was the same.

It would hurt to lose him now. But if he betrayed her he would never know.

“Ready whenever you are Boss.” His quiet assurance pulled her out of the wretched thoughts and back onto the ambush at hand.

“We’re ready to head out Bull.” Nira steadied her breathing, ready to drop Gatt and Bull both if necessary. Her love and respect for Brasirotha hadn’t made her hesitate; her friendship to Bull wouldn’t either.

“Chargers! Hit ‘em hard and hit ‘em fast! When this is over, drinks are on me!” Bull called out.

“You got it Chief. Chargers, double time, let’s move!” Krem got them moving out and Nira wondered if this was the last time she’d see him alive. It was going to be one of those days, she could feel it coming.

Her own team started the trek up to take the high bluff.

“You gave the Chargers the easier target.” Gatt remarked to Bull, seeming to have picked up on Nira’s lack of social overtures.

“You think?” Bull tossed back and Nira looked over at Dorian, wondering if he was as tightly strung as she felt. A Tevinter mage amongst Qunari plots, he was probably more paranoid than a long tailed squirrel at a stomping party.

“Lower and further from the smugglers’ ship? It’s much less likely to be heavily defended.” Gatt’s assessment wasn’t wrong but he was too damn amused by it, as if he’d predicted that Bull would do this.

“Suppose we’ll do the heavy lifting then. Just like old times.” Nira frowned slightly, realizing how clipped Bull’s comments really were. When they were out and about he flirted, he teased, and depending on who they were with he’d outright playfully mock. The last thing Bull liked to do was overly reminisce about Seheron.

But Gatt laughed like he was the only one in on the joke and Nira reached into the well of power the Mark in her palm gave her, ready to unload a Veil Fire dart into the Qun convert the moment she could get away with it. Cole ambled beside her, silent but staying close enough that she wondered if he was reading her thoughts. A part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he was faster than she was, if his blades would beat her dart to their target so she wouldn’t have more pain to bear.

The banter fell off as they scaled the bluff, silence maintained until Gatt needlessly warned, “Get ready, we’re close.”

It felt tragically satisfying to tear into the unprepared Venatori camp, Dorian’s Barrier ensuring that she need not overly worry about retaliation. For the site that was supposedly too good to be anything but heavily defended, they went through the defenders almost too easily. Either this smuggler’s run wasn’t expecting any danger at all, or they’d missed the larger group.

“We’re clear Gatt.” Bull called out, easily taking the lead even if he wasn’t the one in charge.

“Right. Signaling the Dreadnought.” He knelt to a flare and lit it with a few quick strikes of flint.

Nira wanted to believe that maybe the Qun had come in good faith, but her guts screamed not to. The same sense of dread that used to warn of Fen’Harel hunting her in the Fade now cautioned her to remain vigilant.

“Chargers already sent theirs up.” Bull pointed out, proud. “See ‘em down there?” they were on the lower bluff, an equally small force dead around them and Nira suddenly knew it was time for the ambush.

“I knew you gave them the easier job.” Gatt teased Bull but it didn’t sound friendly to Nira.

“There’s the Dreadnought.” Bull sounded pleased, like the job was all done, but Nira was watching Gatt. “That brings back memories.” Bull sighed happily but his friend looked too sharp still.

Even as the Dreadnought shot down the smuggling ship, Nira ran the encounter thus far through her head, looking for what she’d missed. The trap was coming, too much of her could feel the storm about to break and yet it wasn’t targeting her.

Bull laughed but a moment later his body language went jagged. “Crap.”

Gatt had predicted Bull’s decision to send the Chargers to the ‘easier’ target; they hadn’t missed the larger force of Venatori because they were sneaking up on the Chargers now.

“They’ve still got time to fall back if you signal them now.” Nira spoke finally, trying to determine if Bull was capable of being saved.

“Yeah,” Bull sounded so flat that it made her blink, the life gone out of him.

“Your men need to hold that position Bull.” Gatt pointed out, the amusement gone from his voice and his eyes studying everyone with as much paranoia as Nira used.

“They do that, they’re dead.” Bull didn’t have to say it, turning to face Gatt and deliberately giving Nira his back. If she wanted to kill him, right now she was close enough there wasn’t anything he could do to stop her.

If Gatt was doing what she thought he was, Nira suspected that Bull would rather appreciate her slipping the dart in between his ribs; he had to choose, his people or his People.

“And if they don’t, the Venatori retake it and the Dreadnought is dead.” Gatt pointed out anxiously. “You’d be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari!” Bull shifted his weight again, looking out towards his Chargers. “You’d be declaring yourself Tal Vashoth!”

It surprised Nira when Bull’s neck didn’t creak as he looked towards Gatt’s raging frame. “With all you’ve given the Inquisition, half the Ben-Hassrath think you’ve betrayed us already!” And there is was; the truth of this ‘alliance’ offer. Not a measure of Nira’s ability but of Iron Bull’s loyalty. “I stood up for you Hissrad! I told them you would _never_ become Tal Vashoth!”

“They’re my men.” Bull spoke slowly and carefully and still Nira heard the growl warning in his tone.

“I know, but you need to do what’s right Hissrad…for this alliance, and for the Qun.” Gatt sounded utterly insincere to her ears but Nira wasn’t the one being led along by the shorthairs.

And to Nira’s devastation, Iron Bull turned and looked to her; his eye begging her to save him. So she focused on Gatt and let him know what she really thought. “So you want me to betray my People, people that have come to trust me, on the off chance that the alliance with your people won’t result in you turning on me the moment you get what you need. Considering the fact that you’ve ALREADY betrayed me by doing a piss-poor job of scouting for reinforcements, I think we all know what is my best option is. Bull, blow the Creators damned horn and get this _thing_ out of my sight.” She didn’t even blink, ready to say the words the moment she’d spied the Venatori approaching.

She was a Scout; a Scout did not betray their people. And Iron Bull and his Chargers were **HERS** _._

“Don’t!” Gatt begged but Bull had already lifted his horn to his lips and was blowing the retreat.

“They’re falling back.” Bull sounded deflated, no satisfaction to be found in his actions regardless of what they were.

Gatt actually staggered. “All these years Hissrad and you throw away all that you are, for what? For this? For _them?_ ” Gatt pointed towards her in his anger and Nira smiled when he went pale and took a step back, realizing how ready she was to do violence.

“His name is Iron Bull.” She didn’t take her eyes off of Gatt; he looked livid and violent and she almost wanted him to lose his tenuous control so that she could put him down before he could hurt Bull even worse.

If this was the Qun’s attempt to coerce her, they clearly understood nothing about her nature or how she’d react to this attempt. It was actually rather heartening because that meant Bull _hadn’t_ told them how to manipulate her. After this, he was truly hers and hers alone. Like Nira, Bull now had no Clan to return to.

“Let’s take our People home Bull.” She commanded and he did not hesitate to comply.

\--

Being amongst the Inquisition as they celebrated the successes at Halamshiral was a strange affair for one that remembered the Empire that existed before Orlais was even a dream. Solas walked between revelers and courtiers, the people of the Inquisition ridiculous in their expressions of triumph.

He hadn’t laughed so hard in Eons and it felt good to see life filling his old home in such a manner.

Even if her obstinacy was exasperating and exhausting, Sera had a certain knack at catching those around her unawares in the most marvelous of ways. It began with the very old school trick of putting a bucket above the door in the Ambassador’s chambers. He had been creating the outlines required to fill in the fresco for the events of Halamshiral when he heard the splash and a very aggravated scream.

Curiosity was easily assuaged when he stepped out of the rotunda and spied the very sodden Ambassador pulling open her door and kicking the offending bucket out of the way. “Sera!” he hadn’t expected the normally collected Antivan having such a robust shout on her.

“I do believe the last place I spied the errant archer was in the Rest.” Solas called out, tone mild to hide how amusing the sight in front of him was.

Ambassador Montilyet preferred silks and velvets and neither fabric reacted well to a bucket full of cold water; she looked like a discarded doll. Solas watched her storm out of the Main Hall, through the stunned and silent crowds that had gathered in reaction to her outburst, and only then turned to meet Varric’s equally amused gaze.

Without a word spoken between them, they both quickly chased through Solas’ fresco room to take the alternate route to the Rest. “Going to immortalize this too Chuckles?” Varric puffed as they stormed through the Commander’s office, startling the man from his reports but not stopping to explain.

Solas didn’t get a chance to respond, they’d already pushed through the door to where Cole preferred to lurk and were in the Rest as Josephine threw open the main entrance door with a loud clatter.

“Sera I know it was you!” The Ambassador was far more vocal than Solas had ever expected under that demure demeanor.

And Sera gave herself away in her amusement, her arms wrapped across her gut as she cackled at the Ambassador’s misfortune. Her laughter stopped with an alarmed squawk as Josephine stomped towards her with an aggressive snarl, “I have younger siblings Sera; don’t think I don’t know what to do to you!”

“No murder in front of my offspring,” Hawke called out, her red hair impossible to overlook even in the poorly lit tavern. Solas watched the Champion casually bounce her baby girl, a curl of fire in the woman’s words. “if you want to do violence take it outside.”

Now Ambassador Montilyet seemed to recover herself, body language straightening back to Courtly posture as she looked at Hawke. “I don’t plan to do violence Champion, I just wanted to warn Sera that I will get her back. She won’t know when, she won’t know how, and she will never expect what it is I’ll do, but I will get her back for this.” And even if the threat wasn’t made towards him, or involved him in any way, Solas was impressed to believe it.

“Well if that’s the case, carry on.” Hawke waved and Solas heard Varric muffle his laugh.

“Five gold says the nugget starts acting up because Hawke’s paying attention to someone else.” The author kept his voice low, his tone far too confident for Solas to take up the wager.

It was a smart move because not even a moment later the infant in the Champion’s arms found a way to fling her mushy food about the main floor of the tavern. Solas had no desire to be coated in a thick, gooey layer of pureed vegetable but he most certainly enjoyed the sight of Champion, Ambassador, Archer, and everybody in between being liberally splattered.

“Still not the worst thing I’ve ever seen flung on Hawke at a tavern.” Varric commented offhand and Solas laughed, forgetting to muffle the sound and alerting those below to their audience.

“Get your furry ass down here Varric!” Hawke called up without yelling, gesturing to the barkeep to bring beer even if Solas knew she wouldn’t drink it herself yet. “Bring Baldy with you.”

“And you thought my name for you was bad, sorry Chuckles.” Varric grinned, putting lie to his words as he led the way down.

Solas hesitated for a moment but then followed after, conceding to himself that he might enjoy the company of others. The last time Nira had left him off her team, Solas had allowed Varric and the Iron Bull to coax him into a companionable evening that none of them had woken from without a terrible hangover as the price. Not that he’d let them know how much he suffered, Solas had _some_ dignity to maintain after all, but it had helped ease the sense of agitation and frustration at being able to do nothing useful.

And he was fighting against Fen’Harel’s urgings to follow her in a less obvious form. Though he’d also gladly take Solas following her in the Fade in a much more obvious form as well, sometimes his more savage aspects were not all that picky. Even if he had no desire to re-enact the hangover aspect of the evening, Solas wasn’t going to deny himself the chance to be distracted.

Besides, he was curious to see why the Champion wanted him present as well.

He didn’t have to wait long for answers either. “I got a few questions for you Fade boy.” Rena Hawke drawled even before he’d actually sat down and Solas felt his eyebrows arch up in amusement.

He mouthed the words ‘Fade boy’ with a growing grin that was probably a little feral because he saw the Champion blink before squinting at him. Solas hastily tucked away all lingering traces of Fen’Harel’s influence and focused on appearing harmless again. “I can endeavor to answer them Champion, but only if you keep your da’len from unleashing her fury at me.”

Varric laughed even if the Champion didn’t, and Solas was glad to see the author reaching for the little Hawke in question to help keep her from acting out. He took a seat, intrigued to see what the vaunted Champion of Kirkwall wanted to know.

“So my friend is a Gray Warden,” he’d heard the connection from Nira already but let the woman wind up to her point, “and he says that something weird is happening.” She leaned back in her seat and Solas remained silent, if she had secrets to share he was more than willing to collect them.

“Apparently after long enough as a Warden, they get real bad dreams. But something has been making all of them have these bad dreams at the same time.” Although she kept her words light and easy, Solas could hear the thread of seriousness in her tone.

As she hadn’t actually asked him a question yet though, Solas kept his mouth shut firmly on Fen’Harel’s asinine commentary. “Rumour has it that you’ve spent the most time in the Fade and with Spirits,” a gross understatement of epic proportions, “have you ever heard of anything that can mass influence a very specific group like that?”

It was an unexpected, astute question and Solas remained silent as he took a moment to reassess the Champion. She was **far** more dangerous than he’d initially believed, “A spirit or a demon can try to convince or persuade, but unless given consent it cannot influence to that degree. Maybe if the afflicted were physically within the Fade,” if that was a possibility Solas would have found it already, “but there would be an entirely different set of mitigating circumstances for that scenario.” He gave an honest albeit brief answer.

To influence dreamers in the Fade, one required either tremendous Power or to face an opponent with absent self-defenses. Somniari could do it with a lifetime of training, natural talent, and if up against someone who had neither on their own; and blood mages have apparently been able to influence their direct blood victim, but not on a mass scale. Even Fen’Harel had been only able to Hunt Nira in the Fade; it took her reacting back to his actions before he could start manipulating the scenarios to his benefit. But to unsettle Solas further, Fen’Harel reminded him how the Evanuris had enslaved their entire People with their willing assistance.

“Though if there was some commonality threading through each other them,” like the Vallaslin “it is not outside the realm of the possible.” he was surprised to share the information. “Again it boils down to the level of permission given and how interconnected the group _really_ is.”

The Champion made a face, looking frustrated but not surprised by his answer. “That’s pretty much a firm ‘maybe’. Slightly better than Merrill’s ‘I don’t know’ though.”

“Perhaps if I had more background on the specifics I could inquire into the matter for you.” He only offered because now that the idea was in his head, he knew Fen’Harel would worry at it like the proverbial bone.

He was aware of Varric off to the side babbling excitedly at the youngest Hawke, the child’s eager laughter a dissonant point to the topic under discussion. In the greater peripheral, the other patrons were ignoring them and Sera and Ambassador Montilyet had departed to address the mess both figuratively and metaphorically covering them. In front of him Rena Hawke sat poised like the bird of prey her family appropriately bore the crest for and Fen’Harel smiled in response to the unspoken threat.

If the Hawke wanted to play with the Wolf, she would not find him an easy sparring partner.

“Full offense but I don’t know you well enough to expose big ass secrets that aren’t mine to be sharing. You have to know me for a certain length of time before I’m willing to do immoral shit for you.” She sipped her tea and Solas lifted the beer she’d gotten him in salute.

“Understandable and commendable; with a history like yours its good to be cautious.” Solas heard Fen’Harel chitter a laugh about the pot calling the kettle black.

“Damn right.” Rena nodded pragmatically not dismissively. “Now a completely different question for you: do you know of anything that could ease the symptoms of lyrium withdrawal?”

Solas frowned- aware of the motivators for the question, both for the sake of her brother, and the father of her child; it had just never occurred to him that there might be a solution to it. “Would not Madam de Fer be the better to seek answers from? She is an alchemist of some degree.” And a veritable pain in his ass.

“I would sooner piss glass than rely on a Lucrosian Chantry apologist who only cares about what will put her in power.” Rena’s response was blunt and unexpected, and Solas found himself laughing in agreement with it. “She believes self-taught apostates like us are savages that’ll inevitably give in to possession, and she completely dismisses any other method than her own to the point that I would absolutely believe she’s the kind of person to salt and burn the ground so no one else could use it if she was going to lose it. You, however,” Solas’ laughter dried up as she turned the commentary to what he was in her opinion, “volunteered to be here and help from the start.” It was a vote of confidence Solas hadn’t been expecting. “Besides, I figure anyone who can make the Inquisitor happy can’t be all that bad; that girl needs more reasons to smile.”

It was news to him that the others had noticed a perceptible change in Nira’s emotional display, but Solas felt fiercely proud to be considered the source of it. His da’fen had lived a short but hard life thus far and he wanted nothing more than to give her the happiness she deserved. It was just supremely unfortunate that he had no actual idea on how to go about doing that. Fen’Harel had several suggestions but they were not the kind Solas believed should be acted upon.

The high pitched scream of a suddenly unhappy child penetrated their discussion and Solas saw the Champion of Kirkwall disappear as mother Hawke took over. Solas knew he could give her the truth behind whom Andraste really was and be utterly ignored for the sake of her child, and it stopped him cold to follow that thought with wondering what Nira would be like with her own child.

It was a terrible thought, inappropriate and far too precipitous. He’d rushed to the confession of love and nearly chased her away. Solas knew how her own mother had planned to use her as a brood mare, and Nira’s understandable dislike of children as a concept in response. But he could also feel Fen’Harel sit and quietly consider the concept. Dangerous.

Externally Rena had simply grabbed her daughter back from Varric with a grimace, “I can smell her from here, and I’ll take this away from the table. Thanks for the time Solas, even if you didn’t have any real answers.” She exited like a clap of doom.

“You ok there Chuckles,” Varric claimed the Champion’s abandoned chair, “you look like you’re the one that’s crapped themselves.” His crudity helped startle Solas out of his inner panic.

“I find myself in a sudden but inescapable need for a distraction my friend.” His mouth confessed without checking in with the rest of him, the author looking surprised.

But Varric recovered quickly enough, gesturing to the serving maid to bring a bottler over before saying, “You’ve already mastered Diamond Back, so why don’t I teach you the inconsistent glory that is Wicked Grace?”

And Solas didn’t stop the author from filling his cup as frequently as needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucrosians: Dragon Age Inquisition mage fraternity that prioritize the accumulation of wealth, with the gaining of political influence a close second. They are few in number. Vivienne never openly admits to being one but her actions indicate she is


End file.
